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California Sketches. 



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BY O. P. FITZGEEALD. 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY BISHOP GEORGE F. PIERCE. 



The bearded men in rude nttire, 

With nerves of steel and hearts of fire, 

The ivomenfew but fair and sweet, 

Like shadowy visions dim and fleet, 

Again I see, again I hear, 

As down the past I dindij peer, ,, . _. . ^ 

And muse o'er buried joy and paivt^^^^' '^^ *^ ^■ 

And tread the hills of youth again., •\\i O^ 1 

SOUTHERN METHODIST PUBLISHING HOUSE, 

Nashville, Tenn. 

1881. 



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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1881, bj' 

O. P. FITZGERALD, 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



A WORD. 

'TJNCOBES are usually anticlimaxes. I never did 
like them. Yet here I am again before the public 
with another book of "California Sketches." The 
kind treatment given to the former volume, of which six 
editions have been printed and sold; the expressed wishes 
of many friends who have said, Give us another book; 
and my own impulse, have induced me to venture upon a 
second appearance. If much of the song is in the minor 
key, it had to be so: these Sketches are from real life, and 
''all lives are tragedies." THE AUTHOE. 

Nashville, September, 1881. 



II^TEODUCTIOJN^. 



T^HE first issue of the "California Sketches" was very popular, 
deservedly so. The distinguished Author has prepared a Sec- 
ond Series. In this fiict the reading public will rejoice. 

In these books we have the romance and prestige of fiction; the 
tliriil of incident and adventure; the wonderful phases of society 
in a new country, and under the pressure of strong and peculiar 
excitements; human character loose from the restraints of an old 
civilization— a settled order of things; individuality unwarped by 
imitation — free, varied, independent. The materials are rich, and 
tiiey are embodied in a glowing narrative. The writer hims-eif lived 
amid the scenes and the people he describes, and, as a citizen, a 
preacher, and an editor, was an important factor among the forces 
destined to mold the elements which were to be formulated in the 
politics of the State and the enterprises of the Church. A close 
observer, gifted with a keen discrimination and retentive memory, 
a decided reli.-=;h for the ludicrous and the sportive, and always ready 
to give a religious turn to thought and conversation, he is admi- 
rably adapted to portray and recite what he saw, heard, and felt. 

These Sketches furnish good reading for anybody. For the young 
they are charming, full of entertainment, and not wanting in moral 
instruction. They will gratify the taste of those who love to read, 
and, what is more important, beget the appetite for books among 
the dull and indifferent. He who can stimulate children and young 
men and women to read renders a signal service to society at large. 
Mental growth depends much upon reading, and the fertilization of 
the original soil by the habit wisely directed connects vitally with 
the outcome and hftrvest of the future. 

Dr. Fitzgei'ald is doing good service in the work already done, 
and I trust the patronage of the people will encourage him to give 
us another and another of the same sort. At my house we all read 
the "California Sketches" — old and young— and long for more. 

G. F. PIERCK. 



OONTEE^TS. 



Dick 7 

The Diggers 15 

The California Mad-house 30 

San Quentin 41 

"Corraled" 51 

The Reblooming G2 

The Emperor Norton 71 

Camilla Cain 79 

Lone Mountain . . 82 

Newton 92 

The California Politician -99 

Old Man Lowry 113 

Suicide in California 120 

Father Fisher 133 

Jack White 145 

The Rabbi 153 

My Mining Speculation 1^1 

Mike Reese 16G 

Uncle Nolan 175 

Buffalo Jones 181 

Tod Robinson 189 

Ah Lee 198 

The Climate of California 204 



6 COXTEXTS. 

After the Storm 212 

Bishop Kavanalgh in California 214 

Sanders 229 

A Day 238 

Winter-blossomed 248 

A Virginian in California 257 

At the End 263 




DICK. 

DICK was a Californian. We made his ac- 
quaintance in Sonora about a month before 
Christmas, Anno Domini 1855. This is the way it 
happened : 

At the request of a number of families, the lady 
who i^resided in the curious little parsonage near 
the church on the hill-side had started a school for 
little girls. The public schools might do for the 
boys, but were too mixed for their sisters — so they 
thought. Boys could rough it — they were a rough 
set, any way — but the girls must be raised accord- 
ing to the traditions of the old times and the old 
homes. That was the view taken of the matter 
then, and from that day to this the average Cali- 
fornia girl has been superior to the average Cali- 
fornia boy. The boy gets his bias from the street ; 
the girl, from her mother at home. The boy plunges 
into the life that surges around him; the girl only 
feels the touch of its waves as they break upon the 

(7) 



8 California Skktciies. 

eiubiuikmeiits of home. The boy gets more of the 
father; the girl gets more of the mother. This 
may exphiiu their relative superiority. The school 
for girls was started on condition that it should be 
free, the proposed teac'ier refusing all compensa- 
tion. That part of the arrangement was a failure, 
for at the end of the first month every little girl 
brought a handful oi money, and laid it on the 
teacher's desk. It must have been a concerted 
matter. That quiet, unselfish woman had suddenly 
become a m«ney-maker in spite of herself. (Use 
was found for the coin in the course of events.) 
The school was opened with a Psalm, a i^rayer, and 
a little song in which the sweet voices of the lit- 
tle Jewish, Spanish, German, Irish, and American 
maidens united heartily. Dear children ! they are 
scattered now. Some of them have died, and some 
of them have met with what is worse than death. 
There was one bright Spanish girl, slender, grace- 
ful as a willow, with the fresh Castilian blood man- 
tling her cheeks, her bright eyes beaming with mis- 
chief and affection. She was a beautiful child, 
and her winning ways made her a pet in the little 
school. But surrounded as the bright, beautiful 
girl was, Satan had a mortgage on her from her 
hirth, and her fate was too dark and sad to be told 
in these pages. She inherited evil condition, and 
perhaps evil bh)od, and her evil life seemed to be 



Dick. 9 

inevitable. Poor child of sin, whose very beauty 
was thy curse, let the curtain fall upon thy fate 
and name; we leave thee in the hands of the pity- 
ing Christ, who hath said, "Where little is given 
little will be required." Little was given thee in 
the way of opportunity, for it was a mother's hand 
that bound thee with the chains of evil. 

Among the children that came to that remark- 
able academy on the hill was little Mary Kinneth, 
a thin, delicate child, with mild blue eyes, flaxen 
hair, a peach complexion, and the blue veins on 
her temples that are so often the sign of delicacy of 
organization and the presage of early death. JNlike 
Kinneth, her father, was a drinking Irishman, a 
good -hearted fellow when sober, but pugnacious 
and disposed to beat his wife when drunk. The 
poor woman came over to see me one day. She 
had been crying, and there was an ugly bruise on 
her cheek. 

" Your riverence will excuse me," she said, courte- 
sying, " but I wish you would come over and spake 
a word to me husband. Mike 's a kind, good cray- 
thur except when he is dhrinking, but then he is 
the very Satan himself." 

"Did he give you that bruise on your face, Mrs. 
Kinneth?" 

"Yis; he came home last night mad with the 
wliisky, and was breaking ivcry thing in the house. 



10 California Sketches. 

I tried to stop him, and thin he bate me — O! he 
never did that before ! My heart is broke ! " 

Here the poor woman broke down and cried, 
hiding her face in her apron. 

"Little Mary Avas asleep, and she waked up 
frightened and crying to see her father in such a 
Avay. Seeing the child seemed to sober him a lit- 
tle, and he stumbled on to the bed, and fell asleep. 
He was always kind to the child, dhrunk or sober. 
And there is a good heart in him if he will only 
stay away from the dhrink/' 

"Would he let me talk to him?" 

"Yis; we belong to the old Church, but there is 
no priest here now, and the kindness your lady has 
shown to little Mary has softened his heart to ye 
both. And I think he feels a little sick and ashamed 
this mornin', and he will listen to kind words now 
if iver." 

I went to see Mike, and found him half-sick and 
in a penitent mood. He called me " Father Fitz- 
gerald," and treated me wjth the utmost polite- 
ness and deference. I talked to him about little 
Mary, and his warm Irish heart opened to me at 
once. 

"She is a good child, your riverence, and shame 
on the father that would hurt or disgrace her!" 

Tlie tears stood in iNIike's eyes as he spoke the 
words. 



Dick. 11 

"All the trouble comes from the whisky. Why 
not give it up?" 

"By the help of God I will! " said Mike, grasp- 
ing my hand with energy. 

And he did. I confess that the result of my visit 
exceeded my hopes. Mike kept away from the sa- 
loons, w^orked steadily, little Mary had no lack of 
new shoes and neat frocks, and the Kinneth family 
were haj^py in a humble way. Mike always seemed 
glad to see me, and greeted me warmly. 

One morning about the last of November there 
was a knock at the door of the little parsonage. 
Opening the door, there stood Mrs. Kinneth with a 
turkey under her arm. 

" Christmas will soon be coming, and I Ve brought 
ye a turkey for your kindness to little Mary and 
your good talk to Mike. He has not touched a 
dhrop since the blissed day ye spake to him. Will 
ye take the turkey, and my thanks wid it?" 

The turkey w^as politely and smilingly accepted, 
and Mrs. Kinneth went away looking mightily 
pleased. 

I extemporized a little coop for our turkey. 
Having but little mechanical ingenuity, it w^as a 
difficult job, but it resulted more satisfactorily 
than did my attempt to make a door for the min- 
iature kitchen attached tQ the parsonage. My ob- 
ject was to nail some cross-pieces on some plain 



12 Caufol'xja Sketches. 

boards, hang it on hinges, and fasten it on tlie in- 
side by a leather strap attached to a nail. The 
model in my mind was, as the reader sees, of the 
most simple and primitive pattern. I spent all my 
leisure time for a week at work on that door. I 
spoiled the lumber, I blistered my hands, I broke 
several dollars' worth of carpenter's tools, which I 
had to pay, and — then I hired a man to make that 
door ! This was my last effort in that line of things, 
excepting the turkey-coop, which w^as the very last. 
It lasted four days, at the end of which time it just 
gave way all over, and caved in. Fortunately, it 
was no longer needed. Our turkey would not leave 
us. The parsonage fare suited him, and he staid, 
and throve, and made friends. 

We named him Dick. He is the hero of this 
Sketch. Dick was intelligent, sociable, and had a 
good appetite. He would eat any thing, from a 
crust of bread to the pieces of candy that the school- 
girls would give him as they passed. He became 
as gentle as a dog, and would answer to his name. 
He had the freedom of the town, and went where 
he pleased, returning at meal-times, and at night 
to roost on the western end of the kitchen-roof. 
He would eat from our hands, looking at us witli 
a sort of human expression in his shiny eyes. If 
he were a hundred yards away, all we had to 
do was to go to the door and call out, "Dick!" 



Dick. 13 

"Dick!" once or twice, and here he would come, 
stretching his long legs, and saying, "Oot," "oot," 
"oot" (is that the way to spell it?). He got to 
like going about with me. He would go with me 
to the post-office, to the market, and sometimes he 
would accompany me in a pastoral visit. Dick was 
well known and popular. Even the bad boys of 
the town did not throw stones at him. His ruling 
passion was the love of eating. He ate between 
meals. He ate all that was offered to him. Dick 
was a pampered turkey, and made the most of his 
good luck and popularity. He w'as never in low 
spirits, and never disturbed except when a dog 
came about him. He disliked dogs, and seemed to 
distrust them. 

The days rolled by, and Dick was fat and happy. 
It was the day before Christmas. We had asked 
two bachelors to take Christmas-dinner with us, 
having room and chairs for just two more persons. 
(One of our four chairs was called a stool— it had 
a bottom and three legs, one of which was a little 
shaky, and no back.) There was a constraint upon 
us both all day. I knew what was the matter, but 
said nothing. About four o'clock in the afternoon 
Dick's mistress sat down by me, and, after a pause, 
remarked : 

" Do you know that to-morrow is Christmas-day ? " 

"Yes, I know it." 



14 California Sketches. 

Another pause. I had nothing to say just then. 

" Well, if — if — if any thing is to be done about 
that turkey, it is time it were done." 

"Do you mean Dick?" 

"Yes," with a little quiver in her voice. 

"I understand you — you mean to kill him — 
poor Dick ! the only pet we ever had." 

She broke right down at this, and began to cry. 

"AYhat is the matter here?" said our kind, ener- 
getic neighbor, Mrs. T , who came in to pay us 

one of her informal visits. She was from Phila- 
delphia, and, though a gifted woman, Avitli a wide 
range of reading and observation of human life, 
was not a sentimentalist. She laughed at the weep- 
ing mistress of the parsonage, and, going to the 
back-door, she called out: 

"Dick!" "Dick!" 

Dick, who was taking the air high up on the hill- 
side, came at the call, making long strides, and 
sounding his "Oot," "oot," "oot," which was the 
formula by which he expressed all his emotions, 
varying only the tone. 

Dick, as he stood with outstretched neck and a 
look of expectation in his honest eyes, was scooped 
up by our neighbor, and carried off down the hill 
in the most summary manner. 

In about an hour Dick was brought back. He 
was dressed. He was also stuffed. 



THE DIGGEKS. 



THE Digger Indian holds a low place in the 
scale of humanity. He is not intelligent ; he 
is not handsome ; he is not very brave. He stands 
near the foot of his class, and I fear he is not likely 
to go up any higher. It is more likely that the 
])laces that know him now will soon know him no 
more, for the reason that he seems readier to adopt 
the bad white man's whisky and diseases than the 
good white man's morals and religion. Ethnologic- 
ally he has given rise to much conflicting specula- 
tion, with which I will not trouble the gentle read- 
er. He has been in California a long time, and he 
does not know that he was ever anywhere else. His 
pedigree does not trouble him ; he is more concerned 
about getting something to eat. It is not because 
he is an agriculturist that he is called a Digger, 
but because he grabbles for wild roots, and has a 
general fondness for dirt. I said he was not hand- 
some, and when we consider his rusty, dark-brown 

(15) 



16 Califorxia Sketches. 

color, his heavy features, fishy black eyes, coarse 
black hair, and clumsy gait, nobody will dispute 
the statement. But one Digger is uglier than an- 
other, and an old squaw caps the climax. 

The first Digger I ever saw was the best -look- 
ing. He had picked up a little English, and loafed 
around the mining-camps picking up a meal where 
he could get it. He called himself "Captain 
Charley," and, like a true native American, was 
proud of his title. If it was self-assumed, he was 
still following the precedent set by a vast host of 
captains, majors, colonels, and generals, who never 
wore a uniform or hurt anybody. He made his 
appearance at the little parsonage on the hill-side 
in Sonora one day, and, thrusting his bare head 
into the door, he said : 

"Me Cappin Charley," tapping his chest com- 
placently as he spoke. 

Returning his salutation, I waited for him to 
speak again. 

"You got grub — coche came?" he asked, mix- 
ing his Spanish and English. 

Some food was given him, which he snatched 
rather eagerly, and began to eat at once. It was 
evident that Captain Charley had not breakfasted 
that morning. He was a hungry Indian, and when 
he got through his meal there was no reserve of 
rations in the unitjue repository of dishes and food 



wliieli has been mentioned heretofore in these 
Sls:etches. Peering about the premises, Captain 
Charley made a discovery. The modest little 
parsonage stood on a steep incline, the upper side 
resting on the red gravelly earth, while the lower 
side was raised three or four feet from the ground. 
The vacant space underneath had been used by 
our several bachelor predecessors as a receptacle 
for cast-off clothing. Malone, Lockley, and Ev- 
ans, had thus disposed of their discarded apparel, 
and Drury Bond and one or two other miners had 
also added to the treasures that caught the eye of 
the inquisitive Digger. It was a museum of sar- 
torial curiosities — seedy and ripped broadcloth 
coats, vests, and pants, flannel mining-shirts of gay 
colors and of different degrees of wear and tear, 
linen shirts that looked like battle-flags that had 
been through the war, and old shoes and boots of 
all sorts, from the high rubber water-proofs used by 
miners to the ragged slippers that had adorned the 
feet of the lonely single parsons whose names are 
written above. 

"JNIe take um?" asked Captain Charley, point- 
ing to the treasure he had discovered. 

Leave was given, and Captain Charley lost no 

time in taking possession of the coveted goods. 

He chuckled to himself as one article after another 

was drawn forth from the pile which seemed to be 

2 



18 Califol'xia Sketches. 

almost inexhaustible. When he had gotten all out 
and piled up together, it was a rare-looking sight. 
"Mucho bueno!" exclaimed Captain Charley, 
as he proceeded to array himself in a pair of trou- 
sers. Then a shirt, then a vest, and then a coat, 
were put on. And then another, and another, and 
yet another suit was donned in the same order. 
He was fast becoming a " big Indian" indeed. We 
looked on and smiled, sympathizing with the evi- 
dent delight of our visitor in his superabundant 
wardrobe. He was in full-dress, and enjoyed it. 
But he made a failure at one point — his feet were 
too large, or were not the right shape, for white 
men's boots or shoes. He tried several pairs, but 
his huge flat foot would not enter them, and finally 
he threw down the last one tried by him with a 
Spanish exclamation not fit to be printed in these 
pages. That language is a musical one, but its 
oaths are very harsh in sound. A battered "stove- 
pipe" hat was found among the spoils turned over 
to Captain Charley. Placing it on his head jaunt- 
ily, he turned to us, saying, Adlos, and went strut- 
ting down the street, the picture of gratified van- 
ity. His appearance on Washington Street, the 
main thoroughfare of the place, thus gorgeously 
and abundantly arrayed, created a sensation. It 
was as good as a "show" to the jolly miners, al- 
ways ready to be amused. Ca})tain Charley was 



The Diggers. 19 

known to most of them, and they had a kindly 
feeling for the good-natured "fool Injun," as one 
of them called him in my hearing. 

The next Digger I noticed was of the gentler 
(but in this case not lovelier) sex. She was an old 
squaw, who was in mourning. The sign of her 
grief was the black adobe mud spread over her 
face. She sat all day motionless and speechless, 
gazing up into the sky. Her grief was caused by 
the death of a child, and her sorrowful look showed 
that she had a mother's heart. Poor, degraded 
creature! \yhat were her thoughts as she sat 
there looking so pitifully up into the silent, far-off 
heavens? All the livelong day she gazed thus 
fixedly into the sky, taking no notice of the pass- 
ers-by, neither speaking, eating, nor drinking. It 
"Nvas a custom of the tribe, but its peculiar signifi- 
cance is unknown to me. 

It was a great night at an adjoining camp when 
the old chief died. It was made the occasion of a 
fearful orgy. Dry wood and brush were gathered 
into a huge pile, the body of the dead chief was 
placed upon it, and the mass set on fire. As the 
flames blazed upward with a roar, the Indians, 
several hundred in number, broke forth into wild 
wailings and bowlings, the shrill soprano of the 
women rising high above the din, as they marched 
around the burning pyre. Fresh fuel was supplied 



20 . Califobxia Sketches. 

from time to time, and all night long the flames 
lighted up the surrounding hills which echoed with 
the shouts and howls of the savages. It was a 
touch of pandemonium. At dawn there was noth- 
ing left of the dead chief but ashes. The mourn- 
ers took up their line of march toward the Stan- 
ishius Riv^er, the squaws bearing their papooses on 
their backs, the "bucks" leading the way. 

The Digger believes in a future life, and in fut- 
ure rewards and punishments. Good Indians and 
bad Indians are subjected to the same ordeal at 
death. Each one is rewarded according to his 
deeds. 

The disembodied soul comes to a wude, turbid 
river, whose angry waters rush on to an unknown 
destination, roaring and foaming. From high 
banks on either side of the stream is stretched a 
pole smooth and small, over which he is required 
to walk. Upon the result of this jwst- mortem 
Blondinizing his fate depends. If he was in life 
a very good Indian he goes over safely, and finds 
on the other side a paradise, where the skies are 
cloudless, the air balmy, the flowers brilliant in 
color and sweet in perfume, the springs many and 
cool, and the deer plentiful and fat. In this fair 
clime there are no bad Indians, no briers, no 
snakes, no grizzly bears. Such is the paradise of 
good Diggers. 



The Diggers. 21 

The Indian who was in life a mixed character, 
not all good or bad, but made np of both, starts 
across the fateful river, gets on very well until he 
reaches about half-way over, when his head be- 
comes dizzy, and he tumbles into the boiling flood 
below. He swims for his life. (Every Indian on 
earth can swim, and he does not forget the art in 
the world of spirits.) Buffeting the waters, he is 
carried swiftly down the rushing current, and at 
last makes the shore, to find a country which, like 
his former life, is a mixture of good and bad. 
Some days are fair, and otliers are rainy and chilly ; 
flowers and brambles grow together; there are 
some springs of water, but they are few% and not 
all cool and sweet; the deer are fcAv, and shy, and 
lean, and grizzly bears roam the hills and valleys. 
This is the limbo of the moderatelv-wicked Ditj-o-er. 

The very bad Indian, placing his feet upon the 
attenuated bridge of doom, makes a few steps 
forward, stumbles, falls into the whirling waters 
below% and is swept downward Avith fearful ve- 
locity. At last, with des]3erate struggles he half 
swims, and is half washed ashore on the same side 
from which he started, to find a dreary land where 
the sun never shines, and the cold rains always 
pour down from the dark skies, where the water is 
brackish and foul, where no flowers ever bloom, 
where leagues may be traversed withoyt seeing a 



22 Califouxia Sketches. 

(leer, and o-rizzlv bears abound. This is the hell 
of very bad Indians — and a very bad one it is. 

The worst Indians of all, at death, are trans- 
formed into grizzly bears. 

The Digger has a good appetite, and he is not 
particular about his eating. He likes grasshop- 
pers, clover, acorns, roots, and fish. The flesh of 
a dead mule, horse, cow, or hog, does not come 
amiss to him — I mean the flesh of such as die nat- 
ural deaths. He eats wdiat he can get, and all he 
can get. In the grasshopper season he is fat and 
flourishing. In the suburbs of Sonora I came one 
day upon a lot of squaws, ^Yho were engaged in 
catching grasshoppers. Stretched along in line, 
armed with thick branches of pine, they threshed 
the ground in front of them as they advanced, 
driving the grasshoppers before them in constantly- 
increasing numbers, until the air was thick with 
the flying insects. Their course was directed to a 
deep gully, or gulch, into which they fell exhaust- 
ed. It Avas astonishing to see with what dexterity 
the squaws would gather them up and thrust them 
into a sort of covered basket, made of willow-twigs 
or tule-grass, while the insects would be trying to 
escape, but w'ould fall back unable to rise above 
the sides of the gulch in which they liad been en- 
trapped. The grasshoppers are dried, or cured, for 
■winter use. A white man who had tried them told 



The Diggehs. 23 

me they were })lea.<aiit eat i 1112;, having a flavor very 
simihir to tliat of a good .shrimp. (I was content 
to take his word for it.) 

When Bishop Soule was in California, in 1853, 
he paid a visit to a Digger campoody (or vilhige) 
in the Cahiveras hills. He was profoundly inter- 
ested, and expressed an ardent desire to be instru- 
mental in the conversion of one of these poor kin. 
It was yet early in the morning when the Bishop 
and his party arrived, and the Diggers were not 
astir, save here and there a squaw, in primitive 
array, who slouched lazily toward a spring of water 
hard by. But soon the arrival of the visitors was 
made known, and the bucks, squaws, and papooses, 
swarmed forth. They cast curious looks upon the 
whole party, but were specially struck with the 
majestic bearing of the Bishop, as were the pass- 
ing crowds in London, who stopped in the streets 
to gaze with admiration upon the great American 
i:)reacher. The Digger chief did not conceal his 
delight. After looking upon the Bishop fixedly 
for some moments, he went up to him, and tapping 
first his own chest and then the Bishop's, he said: 

" Me big man — you big man ! " 

It was his opinion that two great men had met, 
and that the occasion was a grand one. Moraliz- 
ers to the contrary notwithstanding, greatness is 
not always lacking in self-consciousness. 



24 California ISketciies. 

"I would like to go into one of their wigwams, 
or huts, and see how they really live," said the 
Bishop. 

" You had better drop that idea," said the guide, 
a white man v.'ho knew more about Digger Indians 
than was good for his reputation and morals, but 
who was a good-hearted fellow, always ready to do 
a friendly turn, and with plenty of time on his 
hands to do it. The genius born to live without 
work will make his way by his wits, whether it be 
in the lobby at Washington City, or as a hanger- 
on at a Digger camp. 

The Bishop insisted on going inside the chief's 
wigwam, which was a conical structure of long 
tule- grass, air-tight and weather-proof, with an 
aperture in front just large enough for a man's 
body in a crawling attitude. Sacrificing his dig- 
nity, the Bishop went down on all-fours, and then 
a degree lower, and, following the chief, crawled 
in. The air was foul, the smells were strong, and 
the light was dim. The chief proceeded to tender 
to his distinguished guest the hospitalities of the 
establishment, by offering to share his ])reakfast 
with him. The bill of fare was grasshoppers, with 
acorns as a side-dish. The Bishop nuiintained his 
dignity as he squatted there in the dirt — hU dig- 
nity was equal to any test. He declined the grass- 
hoj)pers tendered him by the chief, pleading that 



The Diggers. 25 

lie had already breakfasted, but watched with 
peculiar sensations the movements of his host, 
as handful after handful of the crisp and juicy 
gryUiis vulgaris were crammed into his capacious 
mouth, and swallowed. What he saw and smelt, 
and the absence of fresh air, began to tell upon 
the Bishop — he became sick and pale, while a gen- 
tle perspiration, like unto that felt in the begin- 
ning of seasickness, beaded his noble forehead. 
With slow dignity, but marked emphasis, he 
spoke : 

"Brother Bristow, I propose that we retire." 
They retired, and there is no record that Bishop 
Soule ever expressed the least desire to repeat his 
visit to the interior of a Digger Indian's abode. 

The whites had many difficulties with the Dig- 
gers in the early days. In most cases I think the 
whites were chiefly to blame. It is very hard for 
the strong to be just to the weak. The weakest 
creature, pressed hard, will strike back. White 
women and children were massacred in retaliation 
for outrages committed upon the ignorant Indians 
by white outlaws. Then there would be a sweep- 
ing destruction of Indians by the excited Avhites, 
who in those days made rather light of Indian 
shooting. The shooting of a "buck" was about 
the same thing, whether it was a male Digger or a 
deer. 



26 Califohnia Sketches. 

''There is not much fifj-ht in ii Diirirer unless 
he's got the dead-wood on you, and then he'll 
make it rough for you. But these Injuns are of 
no use, and I 'd about as soon shoot one of them 
as a coyote" (ki-o-te). 

I The speaker ^\ns a very red-faced, sandy-haired 
man, with blood-shot blue eyes, whom I met on his 
return to the Humboldt country after a visit to 
San Francisco. 

"Did you ever shoot an Indian?" I asked. 

"I first went u}) into the Eel River country in 
'46," he answered. " They give us a lot of trouble 
in them days. They would steal cattle, and our 
boys would shoot. But we've never had much 
difficulty with them since the big fight we had with 
them in 1849. A good deal of devilment had been 
goin' on all roun', and some had been killed on 
both sides. The Injuns killed two women on a 
ranch in the valley, and then we sot in just to wipe 
'em out. Their camp was in a bend of the river, 
near the head of the valley, with a deep slough on 
the right flank. There was about sixty of us, and 

Dave was our captain. He was a hard rider, 

a dead shot, and not very tender-hearted. The 
boys sorter liked him, but kep' a sharp eye on him, 
knowin' he was so quick and handy with a pistol. 
Our plan was to git to their camp and fall on 
em at daybreak, but the sun was risin' just as we 



The Dig gees. 27 

come in sight of it. A dog barked, and Dave sung 
out: 

"'Out with your pistols! pitch in, and give 'em 
the hot lead ! ' 

"In we galloped at full speed, and as the Injuns 
come out to see what was up, we let 'em have it. 
AVe shot forty bucks — about a dozen got away by 
swimmin' the river." 

"Were any of the women killed?" 

"A few were knocked over. You can't be par- 
ticular when you are in a hurry; and a squaw, 
when her blood is up, will fight equal to a buck." 

The fellow spoke with evident pride, feeling that 
he was detailing a heroic affair, having no idea 
that he had done any thing wrong in merely kill- 
ing "bucks." I noticed that this same man was 
very kind to an old lady who took the stage for 
Bloomfield — helping her into the vehicle, and look- 
ing after her baggage. AVhen we parted, I did 
not care to take the hand that had held a pistol 
that morning when the Digger camp was " wiped 
out." 

The scattered remnants of the Digger tribes 
were gathered into a reservation in Round Valley, 
Mendocino county, north of the Bay of San Fran- 
cisco, and were there taught a mild form of agri- 
cultural life, and put under the care of Govern- 
ment agents, contractors, and soldiers, w'ith about 



28 California Sketches. 

the usual results. One agent, who was also a 
preacher, took several huudred of them into the 
Christian Church. They seemed to have mastered 
the leading facts of the gospel, and attained con- 
siderable proficiency in the singing of hymns. Al- 
together, the result of this effort at their conver- 
sion showed that they were human beings, and as 
such could be made recipients of the truth and 
grace of God, who is the Father of all the fami- 
lies of the earth. Tlieir spiritual guide told me 
he had to make one compromise with them— they 
would dance. Extremes meet — the fashionable 
white Christians of our gay capitals and the tawny 
Digger exhibit the same weakness for the fascinat- 
ing exercise that cost John the Baptist his head. 

There is one thing a Digger cannot bear, and 
that is the comforts and luxuries of civilized life. 
A number of my friends, \Yho had taken Digger 
children to raise, found that as they approached 
nuiturity they fell into a decline and died, in most 
cases of some pulmonary affection. The only way 
to save them was to let them rough it, avoiding 
warm bed-rooms and too much clothinii:. A Diir- 
ger girl belonged to my church at Santa Rosa, 
and was a gentle, kind-hearted, grateful creature. 

She was a domestic in the family of Colonel H . 

In that pleasant Christian household she developed 
into a pretty fair specimen of brunette young 



The Diggers. 



20 



womanhood, but to the kist she had an aversion 
to wearing shoes. 

The Digger seems to be doomed. Civilization 
kills him ; and if he sticks to his savagery, he will 
go down before the bullets, Avhisky, and vices of 
his white fellow-sinners. 



THE CALIFOKNIA MAD-HOUSE. 



ON my first visit to the State Insane Asylum, 
at Stockton, I was struck by the beauty of a 
boy of some seven or eight years, who was moving 
about the grounds clad in a strait-jacket. In re- 
ply to my inquiries, the resident physician told me 
his history : 

"About a year ago he was on his way to Cali- 
forDia with the family to which he belonged. He 
was a general pet among the passengers on the 
steamer. Handsome, confiding, and overflowing 
with boyish spirits, everybody had a smile and a 
kind word for the winning little fellow\ Even the 
rough sailors would pause a moment to pat his 
curly head as they passed. One day a sailor, yield- 
ing to a playful impulse in passing, caught up the 
boy in his arms, crying: 

" ' I am going to throw you into the sea ! ' 
"The child gave one scream of terror, and went 
into convulsions. When the paroxysm subsided, 
(30) 



The Caljforxia Mad-house. 31 

he opened his eyes and gazed around with a va- 
cant expression. His mother, who bent over him 
with a pale face, noticed the look, and almost 
screamed : 

"'Tommy, here is your mother — don't you 
know me?' 

"The child gave no sign of recognition. He 
never knew his poor mother again. He was lit- 
erally frightened out of his senses. The mother's 
anguish was terrible. The remorse of the sailor 
for his thoughtless freak was so great that it in 
some degree disarmed the indignation of the pas- 
sengers and crew. The child had learned to read, 
and had made rapid progress in the studies suited 
to his age, but all was swept away by the cruel 
blow. He was unable to utter a word intelligent- 
ly. Since he has been here, there have been signs 
of returning mental consciousness, and we have 
begun wdth him as with an infant. He knows and 
can call his own name, and is now learning the 
alphabet," 

"How is his health?" 

"His health is pretty good, except that he has 
occasional convulsive attacks that can only be 
controlled by the use of powerful opiates." 

I was glad to learn, on a visit made two years 
later, that the unfortunate boy had died. 

This child was murdered by a fool. The fools 



32 Califoexia Sketches. 

are always murdering children, though the work 
is not always done as effectually as in this case. 
They cripple and half kill them by terror. There 
are many who will read this Sketch who will carry 
to the grave, and into the world of spirits, natures 
out of which half the sweetness, and brightness, 
and beauty has been crushed by ignorance or 
brutality. In most cases it is ignorance. The 
hand that should guide, smites; the voice that 
should soothe, jars the sensitive chords that are 
untuned forev^er. He who thoughtlessly excites 
terror in a child's heart is unconsciously doing 
the devil's work ; he that does it consciously is a 
devil. 

"There is a lady here wdiom I wish you would 
talk to. She belongs to one of the most respecta- 
ble families in San Francisco, is cultivated, refined, 
and has been the center of a large and loving cir- 
cle. Her monomania is spiritual despair. She 
thinks she has committed the unpardonable sin. 
There she is now. I will introduce you to her. 
Talk with her, and comfort her if you can." 

She was a tall, well-formed woman in black, with 
all the marks of refinement in her dress and bear- 
ing. She was walking the floor to and fro with 
rapid steps, wringing her hands, and moaning pit- 
eously. Indescribable anguish was in her face 
— it was a hnpele><s face. It haunted my tlioughts 



The California Mad-house. 33 

for mauy days, and it is vividly before me as I 
write BOW. The kind physician introduced me, 
and left the apartment. 

There is a sacredness about such an interview 
that inclines me to veil its details. 

" I am willing to talk with you, sir, and appreciate 
your motive, but I understand my situation. I 
have committed the unpardonable sin, and I know 
there is no hope for me." 

With the earnestness excited by intense sympa^ 
thy, I combated her conclusion, and felt certain that 
1 could make her see and feel that she had given 
way to an illusion. She listened respectfully to all 
I had to say, and then said again : 

"I know my situation. I denied my Saviour 
after all his goodness to me, and he has left me 
forever." 

There was the frozen calmness of utter despair 
in look and tone. I left her as I found her. 

"I will introduce you to another woman, the 
opposite of the poor lady you have just seen. She 
thinks she is a queen, and is perfectly harmless. 
You must be careful to humor her illusion. There 
she is — let me present you." 

She was a woman of immense size, enormously 
fat, with broad red face, and a self-satisfied smirk, 
dressed in some sort of flaming scarlet stuff*, pro- 
fusely tinseled all over, making a gorgeously ridic- 
3 



34 Oalifoenia Sketches. 

ulous effect. She received me with a mixture of 
mock dignity and smiling coDdescension, and sur- 
veying herself admiringly, she asked : 

"How do you like my dress?" 

It was not the first time that royalty had shown 
itself not above the little weaknesses of human 
nature. On being told that her apparel was in- 
deed magnificent, she was much pleased, and drew 
herself up proudly, and was a picture of ecstatic 
vanity. Are the real queens as happy? When 
they lay aside their royal robes for their grave- 
clothes, will not the pageantry which was the 
glory of their lives seem as vain as that of this tin- 
seled queen of the mad-house ? Where is happiness, 
after all? Is it in the circumstances, the external 
conditions? or, is it in the mind? Such were the 
thoughts passing through my mind, when a man 
approached with a violin. Every eye brightened, 
and the queen seemed to thrill with pleasure in 
every nerve. 

"This is the only way we can get some of them 
to take any exercise. The music rouses them, and 
they will dance as long as they are permitted to 
do so." 

The fiddler struck up a lively tune, and the 
queen, with marvelous lightness of step and ogling 
glances, ambled up to a tall, raw-boned INIcthodist 
preacher, who had come with me, and invited him 



The Califobnia Mad-house. 35 

to dance with her. The poor parson seemed sadly 
embarrassed, as her manner was very pressing, but 
he awkwardly and confusedly declined, amid the 
titters of all present. It was a singular spectacle, 
that dance of the mad-women. The most striking 
figure on the floor was the queen. Her great size, 
her brilliant apparel, her astonishing agility, the 
perfect time she kept, the bows, the smiles and 
blandishments, she bestowed on an imaginary part- 
ner, were indescribably ludicrous. Now and then, 
in her evolutions, she would cast a momentary re- 
proachful glance at the ungallant clergyman who 
had refused to dance with feminine royalty, and 
who stood looking on with a sheepish expression 
of face. He was a Kentuckian, and lack of gal- 
lantry is not a Kentucky trait. 

During the session of the Annual Conference at 
Stockton, in 1859 or 1860, the resident physician 
invited me to preach to the inmates of the Asylum 
on Sunday afternoon. The novelty of the service, 
which was announced in the daily papers, attracted 
a large number of visitors, among them the greater 
part of the preachers. The day was one of those 
bright, clear, beautiful October days, peculiar to 
California, that make you think of heaven. I 
stood on the steps, and the hundreds of men and 
women stood below me, with their upturned faces. 
Among them were old men crushed by sorrow, and 



36 California Sketches. 

old men ruined by vice ; aged women with faces 
that seemed to plead for pity, women that made 
you shrink from their unwomanly gaze ; lion-like 
young men, made for heroes but caught in the 
devil's trap and changed into beasts; and boys 
whose looks showed that sin had already stamped 
them with its foul insignia, and burned into their 
souls the shame wdiich is to be one of the elements 
of its eternal punishment. A less impressible man 
than I would have felt moved at the sight of that 
throng of bruised and broken creatures. A hymn 
Avas read, and when Burnet, Kelsay, Neal, and 
others of the preachers, struck up an old tune, 
voice after voice joined in the melody until it 
swelled into a mighty volume of sacred song. I 
noticed that the faces of many w ere wet with tears, 
and there was an indescribable pathos in their 
voices. The pitying God, amid the rapturous hal- 
leluiahs of the heavenly hosts, bent to listen to the 
music of these broken harps. This text w^as an- 
nounced, My peace I give unto you ; and. the ser- 
mon began. 

Among those standing nearest to me was " Old 
Kelley," a noted patient, whose monomania was 
the notion that he was a millionaire, and who spent 
most of his time in drawing checks on imaginary 
deposits for vast sums of money. I held one of 
his checks for a round million, but it has never yet 



The California Mad-house. 37 

been cashed. The old man pressed up close to 
me, seeming to feel that the success of the service 
somehow depended on him. I had not more than 
fairly begun my discourse, when he broke in : 

"That's Daniel Webster!" 

I do n't mind a judicious "Amen," but this put 
nie out a little. I resumed my remarks, and was 
getting another good start, when he again broke in 
enthusiastically : 

"Henry Clay!" 

The preachers standing around me smiled — I 
think I heard one or two of them titter. I could 
not take my eyes from Kelley, who stood with open 
mouth and beaming countenance, waiting for me 
to go on. He held me with an evil fascination. 
I did go on in a louder voice, and in a sort of des- 
peration ; but again my delighted hearer exclaimed : 

"Calhoun!" 

"Old Kelley" spoiled that sermon, though he 
meant kindly. He died not long afterward, gloat- 
ing over his fancied millions to the last. 

"If you have steady nerves, come with me and 
I will show you the worst case we have — a woman 
half tigress, and half devil." 

Ascending a stair-way, I was led to an angle 
of the building assigned to the patients whose 
violence required them to be kept in close confine- 
ment. 



38 California Sketches. 

"Hark! don't you hear her? She is iu one of 
her paroxysms now." 

The sounds that issued from one of the cells 
were like nothing I had ever heard before. They 
were a series of unearthly, fiendish shrieks, inter- 
mingled with furious imprecations, as of a lost spirit 
in an ecstasy of rage and fear. 
• The face that glared upon me through the iron 
grating was hideous, horrible. It was that of a 
woman, or of what had been a woman, but was 
now a wreck out of which evil passion had stamped 
all that was womanly or human. I involuntarily 
shrunk back as I met the glare of those fiery eyes, 
and caught the sound of words that made me shud- 
der. I never suspected myself of being a coward, 
but I felt glad that the iron bars of the cell against 
which she dashed herself were strong. I had read 
of Furies — one was now before me. The bloated, 
gin-inflamed face, the fiery-red, Avicked eyes, the 
swinish chin, tlie tangled coarse hair falling around 
her like writhinej snakes, the ti2:er-like clutch of 
her dirty fingers, the horrible words — the picture 
was sickening, disgust for the time almost extin- 
guishing pity. 

"She was the keeper of a beer -saloon in San 
Francisco, and led a life of drunkenness and li- 
centiousness until she broke down, and she was 
brought here." 



The Califobnia Mad-house. 39 

*' Is there any hope of her restoration ? " 

"I fear not — nothing short of a miracle can 
re-tune an instrument so fearfully broken and 
jangled." 

I thought of her out of whom were cast the seven 
devils, and of Him who came to seek and to save 
the lost, and resisting the impulse that prompted 
me to hurry away from the sight and hearing of 
this lost woman, I tried to talk with her, but had 
to retire at last amid a volley of such language as 
I hope never to hear from a woman's lips again. 

"Listen! Did you ever hear a sweeter voice 
than that?" 

I had heard the voice before, and thrilled under 
its power. It was a female voice of wonderful 
richness and volume, with a touch of something in 
it that moved you strangely — a sort of intensity 
that set your pulses to beating faster, while it en- 
tranced you. The whole of the spacious grounds 
were flooded with the melody, and the passing 
teamsters on the public highway would pause and 
listen with wonder and delight. The singer was a 
fair young girl, with dark auburn hair, large brown 
eyes, that were at times dreamy and sad, and then 
again lit up Avith excitement, as her moods changed 
from sad to gay. 

"She will sit silent for hours gazing listlessly out 
of the window, and then all at once break forth 



40 California Sketches. 

into a burst of song so sweet and thrilling that the 
other patients gather near her and listen in rapt 
silence and delight. Sometimes at a dead hour of 
the night her voice is heard, and then it seems that 
she is under a special affiatus — she seems to be in- 
spired by the very soul of music, and her songs, 
^vild and sad, wailing and rollicking, by turns, but 
all exquisitely sweet, fill the long night-hours with 
their melody." 

The shock caused by the sudden death of her 
betrothed lover overthrew her reason, and blighted 
her life. By the mercy of God, the love of music 
and the gift of song survived the wreck of love and 
of reason. This girl's voice, pealing forth upon the 
still summer evening air, is mingled with my last 
recollection of Stockton and its refuge for the 
doubly miserable who are doomed to death in life. 



SAN QUENTIN. 



" T WANT you to go with me over to San Quentin 
L next Thursday, and preach a thanksgiving- 
sermon to the poor fellows in the State-prison." 

On the appointed morning, I met our party at 
the Vallejo-street wharf, and we were soon steam- 
ing on our way. Passing under the guns of Fort 
Alcatraz, past Angel Island — why so called I know 
not, as in early days it was inhabited not by an- 
gels but goats only — all of us felt the exhilaration 
of the California sunshine, and the bracing No- 
vember air, as we stood upon the guards, w^atching 
the play of the lazy-looking porpoises, that seemed 
to roll along, keeping up with the swift motion of 
the boat in such a leisurely way. The porpoise 
is a deceiver. As he rolls up to the surface of 
the water, in his lumbering w'ay, he looks as if 
he w^ere a huge lump of unwieldy awkwardness, 
floating at random and almost helpless ; but when 
you come to know him better, you find that he is 

(41) 



42 Califoenia Sketches. 

a marvel of muscular power and swiftness. I 
have seen a " school " of porpoises in the Pacific 
swimming for hours alongside one of our fleetest 
ocean-steamers, darting a few yards ahead now 
and then, as if by mere volition, cutting their way 
through the water with the directness of an arrow. 
The porpoise is playful at times, and his favorite 
game is a sort of leap-frog. A score or more of 
the creatures, seemingly full of fun and excite- 
ment, will chase one another at full speed, throw- 
ing themselves f^om the water and turning somer- 
saults in the air, the water boiling with the agitation, 
and their huge bodies flashing in the light. You 
might almost imagine that they had found some- 
thing in the sea that had made them drunk, or 
that they had inhaled some sort of piscatorial an- 
aesthetic. But here we are at our destination. 
The bell rings, we round to, and land. 

At San Quentin nature is at her best, and man 
at his worst. Against the rocky shore the waters 
of the bay break in gentle plashings when the 
winds are quiet. When the gales from the south- 
west sweep through the Golden Gate, and set the 
white caps to dancing to their wild music, the 
waves rise high, and dash upon the dripping stones 
with a hoarse roar, as of anger. Beginning a 
few hundreds of yards from the water's edge, the 
hills slope up, and up, and up, until they touch the 



Sax Quentin. 43 

base of Tamclpais, on whose dark and rugged 
suniAint, four thousand feet above the sea that 
laves his feet on the west, the rays of the morning 
sun fall with transfiguring glory while yet the val- 
ley below lies in shadow. On this lofty pinnacle lin- 
ger the last rays of the setting sun, as it drops into 
the bosom of the Pacific. In stormy Aveather, the 
mist and clouds roll in from the ocean, and gather 
in dark masses around his awful head, as if the 
sea-gods had risen from their homes in the deep, 
and were holding a council of war amid the battle 
of the elements ; at other times, after calm, 
bright days, the thin, soft white clouds that hang 
about his crest deepen into crimson and gold, and 
the mountain-top looks as if the angels of God had 
come down to encamp, and joitched here their pa- 
vilions of glory. This is nature at San Quentin, 
and this is Tamelpais as I have looked upon it 
many a morning and many an evening from my 
window above the sea at North Beach. 

The gate is opened for us, and we enter the 
prison-walls. It is a holiday, and the day is fair 
and balmy; but the chill and sadness cannot be 
shaken off, as we look around us. The sunshine 
seems almost to be a mockery in this place where fel- 
low-men are caged and guarded like wild beasts, and 
skulk about with shaved heads, clad in the striped 
uniform of infamy. Merciful God! is this what 



44 California Sketches. 

thy creature man was made for? How long, how 
long ? « 

Seated upon the platform with the prison offi- 
cials and visitors, I watched my strange auditors 
as they came in. There were one thousand of 
them. Their faces were a curious study. Most 
of them were bad faces. Beast and devil were 
printed on them. Thick necks, heavy back-heads, 
and low, square foreheads, were the prevalent 
types. The least repulsive were those who looked 
as if they were all animal, creatures of instinct 
and appetite, good-natured and stupid ; the most 
repulsive were those whose eyes had a gleam of 
mingled sensuality and ferocity. But some of 
these faces that met my gaze were startling — they 
seemed so out of place. One old man with gray 
hair, pale, sad face, and clear blue eyes, might 
have passed, in other garb and in other company, 
for an honored member of the Society of Friends. 
He had killed a man in a mountain county. If 
he was indeed a murderer at heart, nature had 
given him the wrong imprint. My attention was 
struck by a smooth-faced, handsome young fellow, 
scarcely of age, who looked as little like a convict 
as anybody on that platform. He was in for 
burglary, and had a very bad record. Some came 
in half laughing, as if they thought the whole 
affair more a joke than any thing else. The Mex- 



San Quentin. 45 

icans, of wliom there was quite a number, were 
sullen and scowling. There is gloom in the Span- 
ish blood. The irrepressible good nature of sev- 
eral ruddy-faced Irishmen broke out in sly merri- 
ment. As the service began, the discipline of the 
prison showed itself in the quiet that instantly 
prevailed ; but only a few, who joined in the 
singing, seemed to feel the slightest interest in it. 
Their eyes were wandering, and their faces were 
vacant. They had the look of men who had come 
to be talked at and patronized, and who were used 
to it. The prayer that was offered w-as not calcu- 
lated to banish such a feeling — it was dry and 
cold. I stood up to begin the sermon. Never be- 
fore had I realized so fully that God's message was 
to lost men, and for lost men. A mfghty tide of 
pity rushed in upon my soul as I looked down into 
the faces of my hearers. My eyes filled, and my 
heart melted within me. I could not speak until 
after a pause, and only then by great effort. 
There was a deep silence, and every face was lifted 
to mine as I announced the text. God had touched 
my heart and theirs at the start. I read the words 
slowly : God hath not appointed us to wrath, but to ob- 
tain salvation by our Lord Jesus Christ. Then I said : 
"My fellow-men, I come to you to-day with a 
message from my Father, and your Father in 
heaven. It is a message of hope. God help me 



46 California Sketches. 

to deliver it as I ought! God help you to hear it 
as you ought! I ^vill not iusult you by saying 
that because you have an extra dinner, a few 
hours respite from your toil, and a little fresh air 
and sunshine, you ought to have a joyful thanks- 
giving to-day. If I should talk thus, you would 
be ready to ask me how I would like to change 
places with you. You would despise me, and I 
would despise myself, for indulging in such cant. 
Your lot is a hard one. The battle of life has 
gone against you — whether by your own fault or 
by hard fortune, it matters not, so far as the fact is 
concerned; this thanksgiving-day finds you locked 
in here, with broken lives, and \vearing the badge of 
crime. God alone knows the secrets of each throb- 
bing heart before me, and how it is that you have 
come to this. Fellow-men, children of my Father 
in heaven, putting myself for the moment in your 
place, the bitterness of your lot is real and terrible 
to me. For some of you there is no happier pros- 
pect for this life than to toil within these walls by 
day, and sleep in yonder cells by night, through 
the weary, slow-dragging years, and then to die, 
with only the hands of hired attendants to wipe 
the death-sweat from your brows ; and then to be 
put in a convict's coffin, and taken up on the hill 
yonder, and laid in a lonely grave. My God! 
this is terrible ! " 



San Que n tin. 47 

An unexpected dramatic effect folloAved these 
words. The lieads of many of the convicts fell 
forward on their breasts, as if struck with sudden 
paralysis. They were the men who were in for 
life, and the horror of it overcame them. The 
silence was broken by sobbings all over the room. 
The officers and visitors on the ^^latform were 
weeping. The angel of pity hovered over the 
place, and the glow of human sympathy had melt- 
ed those stony hearts. A thousand strong men 
were thrilled with the touch of sympathy, and 
once more the sacred fountain of tears was un- 
sealed. These convicts were men, after all, and 
deep down under the rubbish of their natures 
there was still burning the spark of a humanity 
not yet extinct. It was wonderful to see the soft- 
ened expression of their faces. Yes, they were 
men, after all, responding to the voice of sympathy, 
Avhich had been but too strange to many of them 
all their evil lives. Many of them had inherited 
hard conditions; they were literally conceived in 
sin and born in iniquity ; they grew up in the 
midst of vice. For them pure and holy lives 
were a moral impossibility. Evil with them was 
hereditary, organic, and the result of association ; 
it poisoned their blood at the start, and stamped it- 
self on their features from their cradles. Human 
law, in dealing with these victims of evil circum- 



48 California Sketches. 

stance, can make little discriniiuatioii. Society 
must protect itself, treating a criminal as a crim- 
inal. But Avhat ^vill God do with them hereafter? 
Be sure he will do right. Where little is given, 
little will be required. It shall be better for Tyre 
and Sidon at the day of judgment than for Chora- 
zin and Bethsaida. There is no ruin without rem- 
edy, except that which a man makes for himself 
by abusing mercy, and throwing away proffered 
opportunity. Thoughts like these rushed through 
the preacher's mind, as he stood there looking in 
the tear-bedewed faces of these men of crime. A 
fresh tide of pity rose in his heart, that he felt 
came from the heart of the all-pitying One. 

" I do not try to disguise from you, or from myself 
the fact that for this life your outlook is not bright. 
But I come to you this day with a message of hope 
from God our Father. He hath not appointed you 
to wrath. He loves all his children. He sent his 
Son to die for them. Jesus trod the paths of pain, 
and drained the cup of sorrow. He died as a 
malefactor, for malefactors. He died for me. He 
died for each one of you. If I knew the most 
broken, the most desolate-hearted, despairing man 
before me, who feels that he is scorned of men and 
forsaken of God, I would go to where he sits and 
put my hand on his head, and tell him that God 
hath not appointed him to wrath, but to obtain 



San Quentin. 49 

salvation by our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for 
us. I would tell him that his Father in heaven 
loves him still, loves him more than the mother 
that bore him. I would tell him that all the 
wrongs and follies of his past life may from this 
hour be turned into so much capital of a warning 
experience, and that a million of years from to-day 
he may be a child of the Heavenly Father, and an 
heir of glory, having the freedom of the lieavens 
and the blessedness of everlasting life. O broth- 
ers, God does love you! Nothing can ruin you 
but your own despair. No man has any right to 
despair who has eternity before him. Eternity? 
Long, long eternity! Blessed, blessed eternity! 
That is yours: — all of it. It may be a happy eter- 
nity for each one of you. From this moment you 
may begin a better life. There is hope for you, 
and mercy, and love, and heaven. This is the 
message I bring you warm from a brother's heart, 
and warm from the heart of Jesus, whose life-blood 
was poured out for you and me. His loving hand 
opened the gate of mercy and hope to every man. 
The proof is that he died for us. O Sou of God, 
take us to thy pitying arms, and lift us up into the 
light that never, never grows dim — into the love 
that fills heaven and eternity ! " 

As the speaker sunk into his seat, there was a 
silence that was almost painful for a few moments. 
4 



50 



California Sketches. 



Then the peut-up emotion of the men broke forth 
in sobs that shook their strong frames. Dr. Lucky, 
the prisoner's friend, made a brief, tearful prayer, 
and then the benediction was said, and the service 
was at an end. The men sat still in their seats. 
As we filed out of the chapel, many hands were 
extended to grasp mine, holding it with a clinging 
pressure. I passed out bearing with me the im- 
pression of an hour I can never forget; and the 
images of those thousand faces are still painted in 
memory. 



" COEKALED." 



„g, 



O you were corraled last night?" 

This was the remark of a friend whom I 
met in the streets of Stockton the morning after 
my adventure. I knew wliat the expression meant 
as applied to cattle, but I had never heard it be- 
fore in reference to a human being. Yes, I had 
been corraled; and this is how it happened: 

It was in the old days, before there were any 
railroads in California. With a wiry, clean-limbed 
pinto horse, I undertook to drive from Sacramento 
City to Stockton one day. It was in the winter 
season, and the clouds were sweeping up from the 
south-west, the snow-crested Sierras hidden from 
sight by dense masses of vapor boiling at their 
bases and massed against their sides. The roads 
were heavy from the effects of previous rains, and 
the plucky little pinto sweated as he pulled through 
the long stretches of black adobe mud. A cold 
wind struck me in the face, and the ride was a 



52 California Sketches. 

dreary one from the start.. But I pushed on con- 
fidently, having faith in the spotted mustang, de- 
spite the evident fact that he had lost no little of 
the spirit with which he dashed out of town at 
starting. When a genuine mustang flags, it is a 
serious business. The hardiness and endurance of 
this breed of horses almost exceed belief. 

Toward night a cold rain began to fall, driving 
in my face with the head-wind. Still many a long 
mile lay between me and Stockton. Dark came 
on, and it was dark indeed. The outline of the 
horse I was driving could not be seen, and the flat 
country through which I was driving was a great 
black sea of night. I trusted to the instinct of the 
horse, and moved on. The bells of a wagon-team 
meeting me fell upon my ear. I called out, 

"Halloo there!" 

"What's the matter?" answered a heavy voice 
through the darkness. 

"Am I in the road to Stockton, and can I get 
there to-night?" 

" You are in the road, but you Avill never find 
your way such a night as this. It is ten good 
miles from here ; you have several bridges to cross 
— you had better stop at the first house you come to, 
about half a mile ahead. I am going to strike 
camp myself" 

I thanked my adviser, and went on, hearing the 



" CorraledJ' 53 

sound of the tiukliug bells, but unable to see any 
thing. In a little while I saw a light ahead, and 
was glad to see it. Driving up in front and halt- 
ing, I repeated the traveler's "halloo" several 
times, and at last got a response in a hoarse, gruff 
voice. 

"I am belated on my way to Stockton, and am 
cold, and tired, and hungry. Can I get shelter 
with you for the night?" 

" You may try it, if you want to," answered the 
unmusical voice abruptly. 

In a few moments a man appeared to take the 
horse, and taking my satchel in hand, I went into 
the house. The first thing that struck my atten- 
tion on entering the room was a big log-fire, which 
I was glad to see, for I Avas wet and very cold. 
Taking a chair in the corner, I looked around. 
The scene that presented itself was not reassuring. 
The main feature of the room w^as a bar, with an 
ample supply of barrels, demijohns, bottles, tum- 
blers, and all the et cceteras. Behind the counter 
stood the proprietor, a burly fellow with a buffalo- 
neck, fair skin and blue eyes, Avith a frightful scar 
across his left under-jaw and neck; his shirt-collar 
was open, exposing a huge chest, and his sleeves 
were rolled up above the elbows. I noticed also 
that one of his hands was minus all the fingers 
but the half of one — the result probably of some 



54 California Sketches. 

desperate rencounter. I did not like the appear- 
ance of my landlord, and he eyed me in a way 
that led me to fear that he liked my looks as little as 
I did his ; but the claims of other guests soon divert- 
ed his attention from me, and I was left to get 
warm and make further observations. At a table 
in the middle of the room several hard -looking 
fellows were betting at cards, amid terrible pro- 
fanity and frequent drinks of whisky. They cast 
inquiring and not very friendly glances at me from 
time to time, once or twice exchanging whispers 
and giggling. As their play went on, and tumbler 
after tumbler of whisky was drunk by them, they 
became more boisterous. Threats were made of 
using pistols and knives, with which they all 
seemed to be heavily armed ; and one sottish-look- 
ing brute actually drew forth a pistol, but was 
disarmed in no gentle way by the big-limbed land- 
lord. The profanity and other foul language were 
horrible. Many of my readers have no conception 
of the brutishness of men when whisky and Satan 
have full possession of them. In the midst of a 
volley of oaths and terrible imprecations by one 
of the most violent of the set, there was a faint 
gleam of lingering decency exhibited by one of 
his companions: 

"Blast it, Dick, do n't cuss so loud — that fellow 
in the corner there is a preacher ! " 



^* CoRliALED." 55 

There was some potency in "the cloth" even 
there. How he knew my calling I do not know. 
The remark directed particular attention to me, 
and I became unpleasantly conspicuous. Scowling 
glances were bent upon me by two or three of the 
ruffians, and one fellow made a profane remark 
not at all complimentary to my vocation — whereat 
there was some coarse laughter. In the meantime 
I was conscious of being very hungry. My hun- 
ger, like that of a boy, is a very positive thing — at 
least it was very much so in those days. Glancing 
toward the maimed and scarred giant who stood 
behind the bar, I found he was gazing at me with 
a fixed expression. 

"Can I get something to eat? I am very hun- 
gry, sir," I said in my blandest tones. 

" Yes, we 've plenty of cold goose, and may bo 
Pete can i:)ick up something else for you if he is 
sober and in a good humor. Come this way." 

I followed him through a narrow passage-way, 
which led to a long, low-ceiled room, along nearly 
the whole length of which was stretched a table, 
around which were placed rough stools for the 
rough men about the place. 

Pete, the cook, came in, and the head of the 
house turned me over to him, and returned to his 
duties behind the bar. From the noise of the up- 
roar going on, his presence was doubtless needed. 



56 California Sketches. 

Pete set before me a large roasted wild-goose, not 
badly cooked, Avith bread, milk, and the inevitable 
cucumber pickles. The knives and forks were not 
very bright — in fact, they had been subjected to in- 
fluences promotive of oxidation; and the dishes 
were not free from signs of former use. Nothing 
could be said against the table-cloth — there was 
no table-cloth there. But the goose w^as fat, 
brown, and tender ; and a hungry man defers his 
criticisms until he is done eating. That is what I 
did. Pete evidently regarded me with curiosity. 
He was about fifty years of age, and had the look 
of a man wdio had come down in the world. His 
face bore the marks of the effects of strong drink, 
but it was not a bad face; it was more w'eak than 
wicked. 

"Are you a preacher?" he a.sked. 

" I thought so," he added, after getting my an- 
swer to his question. " Of what persuasion are 
you?" he further inquired. 

When I told him I was a Methodist, he said 
quickly and with some warmth : 

"I was sure of it. This is a rough place for 
a man of your calling. AVould you like some 
eggs? we've plenty on hand. And may be you 
would like a cup of coffee," he added, with in- 
creasing hospitality. 

I took the eggs, but declined the coffee, not lik- 



"CoRRALEDr 57 

ing the looks of the cups unci saucers, and not car- 
ing to wait. 

" I used to be a Methodist myself/' said Pete, 
with a sort of choking in his throat, "but bad luck 
and bad company have brought me down to this. 
I have a family in Iowa, a wife and four children. 
I guess they think I 'm dead, and sometimes I wish 
I was." 

Pete stood by my chair, actually crying. The 
sight of a Methodist preacher brought up old 
times. He told me his story. He had come to 
California hoping to make a fortune in a hurry, 
but had only ill luck from the start. His pros- 
pectings were always failures, his partners cheated 
him, his health broke down, his courage gave way, 
and — he faltered a little, and then spoke it out — 
he took to whisky, and then the worst came. 

" I have come down to this — cooking for a lot 
of roughs at five dollars a week, and all the whis- 
ky I want. It would have been better for me if I 
had died when I was in the hospital at San Andreas." 

Poor Pete! he had indeed touched bottom. But 
he had a heart and a conscience still, and my own 
heart warmed toward my poor backslidden brother. 

"You are not a lost man yet. You are worth a 
thousand dead men. You can get out of this, and 
you must. You must act the part of a brave man, 
and not be any longer a coward. Bad luck and 



58 California Sketches. 

lack of success are a disgrace to no man. There is 
where you went wrong. It was cowardly to give 
up and not write to your family, and then take to 
whisky." 

''I know all that, Elder. There is no better lit- 
tle woman on earth than my wife" — Pete choked 
up again. 

" You write to her this very night, and go back 
to her and your children just as soon as you can 
get the money to pay your way. Act the man, and 
all will come right yet. I have writing-materials 
here in my satchel — pen, ink, paper, envelopes, 
stamps, every thing ; I am an editor, and go fixed 
up for writing." 

The letter was written, I acting as Pete's aman- 
uensis, he pleading that he was a poor scribe at best, 
and that his nerves were too unsteady for such 
work. Taking my advice, he made a clean breast 
of the whole matter, throwing himself on the for- 
giveness of the wife whom he had so shamefully 
neglected, and promising by the help of God to 
make all the amends possible in time to come. 
The letter was duly directed, sealed, and stamped, 
and Pete looked as if a great weight had been 
lifted from his soul. He had made me a fire in the 
little stove, saying it was better than the bar- 
room ; in which opinion I was fully agreed. 

" There is no place for you to sleep to-night with- 



"CORRALEDr 59 

out corrallng you with the fellows ; there is but one 
bed-room, and there are fourteen bunks in it." 

I shuddered at the prospect — fourteen bunks in 
one small room, and those whisky-sodden, loud- 
cursing card-players to be my room-mates for the 
night ! 

" I prefer sitting here by the stove all night," I 
said ; " I can employ most of the time writing, if I 
can have a light." 

Pete thought a moment, looked grave, and then 
said : 

"That won't do, Elder; those fellows would 
take offense, and make trouble. Several of them 
are out now goose-hunting ; they will be coming in 
at all hours from now till day-break, and it won't 
do for them to find you sitting up here alone. The 
best thing for you to do is to go in and take one of 
those bunks ; you need n't take off any thing but 
your coat and boots, and " — here he lowered his 
voice, looking about him as he spoke — ^' if you have 
any money about, keep it next to your body.'' 

The last words were sj)oken with peculiar em- 
phasis. 

Taking the advice given me, I took up my bag- 
gage and followed Pete to the room where I was 
to spend the night. Ugh! it was dreadful. The 
single window in the room Avas nailed down, and 
the air was close and foul. The bunks were damp 



60 Califoenia Sketches. 

and dirty beyood belief, grimed with foulness, and 
reeking with ill odors. This was being corraled. 
I turned to Pete, saying: 

"I can't stand this — I will go back to the 
kitchen." 

"You had better follow my advice. Elder," said 
he very gravely. " I know things about here bet- 
ter than you do. It's rough, but you had better 
Btand it." 

And I did ; being corraled, I had to stand it. 
That fearful night! The drunken fellows stag- 
gered in one by one, cursing and hiccoughing, un- 
til every bunk was occupied. They muttered 
oaths in their sleep, and their stertorous breath- 
ings made a concert fit for Tartarus. The sickening 
odors of whisky, onions, and tobacco filled the 
room. I lay there and longed for daylight, which 
seemed as if it never would come. I thought of the 
descriptions I had heard and read of hell, and 
just then the most vivid conception of its horror 
was to be shut uj) forever Avith the aggregated im- 
purity of the universe. By contrast I tried to 
think of that city of God into which, it is said, 
"there shall in no wise enter into it any thing 
that defileth, neither whatsoever w^orketh abomi- 
nation, or maketh a lie ; but they which are written 
in the Lamb's book of life." But thoughts of 
heaven did not suit the situation ; it was more sug- 



''CORRALEDr 61 

gestive of the other place. The horror of being 
shut up eternally in hell as the companion of lost 
spirits was intensified by the experience and re- 
flections of that night when I was corraled. 

Day came at last. I rose with the first streaks 
of the dawn, and not having much toilet to make, 
I was soon out-of-doors. Never did I breathe the 
pure, fresh air with such profound pleasure and 
gratitude. I drew deep inspirations, and, opening 
my coat and vest, let the breeze that swept up the 
valley blow upon me unrestricted. How bright, 
was the face of nature, and how sweet her breath 
after the sights, sounds, and smells of the night! 

I did not wait for breakfast, but had my j^into 
and buggy brought out, and, bidding Pete good-by, 
hurried on to Stockton. 

"So you were corraled last night?" was the re- 
mark of a friend, quoted at the beginning of this 
true sketch. " AVhat w^as the name of the propri- 
etor of the house?" 

I gave him the name. 

" Dave W ! " he exclaimed with fresh aston- 
ishment. "That is the roughest place in the San 
Joaquin Valley. Several men have been killed and 
robbed there during the last two or three years." 

I hope Pete got back safe to his wife and chil- 
dren in Iowa; and I hope I may never be corraled 
again. 



THE KEBLOOMING. 



IT is now more than twenty years since the 
morning a slender youth of handsome face and 
modest mien came into my office on the corner of 
Montgomery and Clay streets, San Francisco. He 
was the son of a preacher well known in Missouri 
and California, a man of rare good sense, caustic 
wit, and many eccentricities. The young man be- 
came an attache of my newsjDaper-office and an in- 
mate of my home. He was as fair as a girl, and 
refined in his taste and manners. A genial taci- 
turnity, if the expression may be allowed, marked 
his bearing in the social circle. Everybody had a 
kind feeling and a good word for the quiet, bright- 
faced youth. In the discharge of his duties in the 
office he was punctual and trustworthy, showing 
not only industry but unusual aptitude for business. 
It was with special pleasure that I learned that he 
was turning his thoughts to the subject of religion. 
During the services in the little Pine-street church 
(02) 



The Reblooming. 63 

he would sit with thoughtful face, and not seldom 
with moistened eyes. He read the Bible and 
prayed in secret. I was not surprised when he 
came to me one day and opened his heart. The 
great crisis in his life had come. God was speak- 
ing to his soul, and he was listening to his voice. 
The uplifted cross drew him, and he yielded to the 
gentle attraction. We prayed together, and hence- 
forth there was a new and sacred bond that bound 
us to each other. I felt that I was a witness to 
the most solemn transaction that can take place 
on earth — the wedding of a soul to a heavenly 
faith. Soon thereafter he went to Virginia, to at- 
tend college. There he united with the Church. 
His letters to me were full of gratitude and joy. 
It was the blossoming of his spiritual life, and the 
air was full of its fragrance, and the earth was 
flooded with glory. A pedestrian-tour among the 
Virginia hills brought him into communion with 
Nature at a time when it was rapture to drink in 
its beauty and its grandeur. The light kindled 
within his soul by the touch of the Holy Spirit 
transfigured the scenery upon which he gazed, and 
the glory of God shone round about the young 
student in the flush and blessedness of his first 
love. O blessed days! O days of brightness, and 
sweetness, and rapture! The soul is then in its 
blossoming -time, and all high enthusiasms, all 



G4 California Sketches. 

bright dreams, all thrilling joys, are realities which 
iuwork themselves iuto the consciousness, to be for- 
gotten never ; to remain with us as prophecies of 
the eternal spring-time that awaits the true-hearted 
on the hills of God beyond the grave, or as accus- 
ing voices charging us with the murder of our 
dead ideals! Amid the dust and din of the battle 
in after-years we turn to this radiant spot in our 
journey with smiles or tears, according as we have 
been true or false to the impulses, aspirations, and 
purposes inspired w^ithin us by that first, and 
brightest, and nearest manifestation of God. Such 
a season is as natural to every life as the April 
buds and June roses are to forest and garden. The 
spring-time of some lives is deferred by unpropi- 
tious circumstance to the time when it should be 
glowing with autumnal glory, and rich in the fruit- 
age of the closing year. The life that does not 
blossom into religion in youth may have light at 
noon, and peace at sunset, but misses the morning 
glory on the hills, and the dew that sparkles on 
grass and flower. The call of God to the young 
to seek him early is the expression of a true psy- 
chology no less than of a love infinite in its depth 
and tenderness. 

His college-course finished, my young friend re- 
turned to California, and in one of its beautiful 
valley-towns he entered a law-office, with a view 



The Be blooming, 65 

to prepare himself for the legal profession. Here 
he was thrown into daily association with a little 
knot of skeptical lawyers. As is often the case, 
their moral obliquities ran parallel with their er- 
rors in opinion. They swore, gambled genteelly, 
and drank. It is not strange that in this icy at- 
mosphere the growth of my young friend in the 
Christian life was stunted. Such influences are 
like the dreaded north wind that at times sweeps 
over the valleys of California in the spring and 
early summer, blighting and withering the vegeta- 
tion it does not kill. The brightness of his hope 
was dimmed, and his soul knew the torture of 
doubt — a torture that is always keenest to him 
who allows himself to sink in the region of fogs 
after he has once stood upon the sunlit summit of 
faith. Just at this crisis, a thing little in itself 
deepened the shadow that was falling upon his 
life. A personal misunderstanding with the pastor 
kept him from attending churcb. Thus he lost 
the most effectual defense against the assaults that 
were being made upon his faith and hope, in being 
separated from the fellowship and cut off from the 
activities of the Church of God. Have you not 
noted these malign coincidences in life? There 
are times when it seems that the tide of events 
sets against us — when, like the princely sufferer of 
the land of Uz, every messenger that crosses the 
5 



6G California Sketches. 

threshold brings fresh tidings of ill, and our whole 
destiny seems to be rushing to a predoomed perdi- 
tion. The worldly call it bad luck; the supersti- 
tious call it fate; the believer in God calls it by 
another name. Always of a delicate constitution, 
my friend now exhibited symptoms of serious pul- 
monary disease. It was at that time the fashion 
in California to prescribe whisky as a specific for 
that class of ailments. It is possible that there is 
virtue in the prescription, but I am sure of one 
thing, namely, that if consumption diminished, 
drunkenness increased : if fewer died of phthisis, 
more died of delirium tremens. The physicians of 
California have sent a host of victims ravino; and 
gibbering in drunken frenzy or idiocy down to 
death and hell! I have reason to believe that my 
friend inherited a constitutional weakness at this 
point. As flame to tinder, was the medicinal 
whisky to him. It grew upon him rapidly, and 
soon this cloud overshadowed all his life. He 
struggled hard to break the serpent-folds that were 
tightening around him ; but the fire that had been 
kindled seemed to be quenchless. An uncontrolled 
evil passion is hell-fire. He writhed in its burn- 
ings in an agony that could be understood only by 
such as knew how almost morbidly sensitive was 
his nature, and how vital was his conscience. I 
became a pastor in the town where he lived, and 



The Reblooming. 67 

renewed my association with him as far as I could. 
But there was a constraint unlike the old times. 
When under the influence of liquor, he would pass 
nie in the streets with his head down, a deeper flush 
mantling his cheek as he hurried by with unsteady 
step. Sometimes I met him staggering homeward 
through a back street, hiding from the gaze of 
men. He was at flrst shy of me when sober, but 
gradually the constraint wore ofl", and he seemed 
disposed to draw nearer to me, as in the old days. 
His struggle went on, days of drunkenness follow- 
ing weeks of soberness, his haggard face after each 
debauch wearing a look of unspeakable weariness 
and wretchedness. One of the lawyers who had 
led him into the mazes of doubt — a man of large 
and versatile gifts, whose lips were touched with a 
noble and persuasive eloquence — sunk deeper and 
deeper into the black depths of drunkenness, until 
the tragedy ended in a horror that lessened the 
gains of the saloons for at least a few days. He 
was found dead in his bed one morning in a pool 
of blood, his throat cut by his own guilty hand. 

My friend had married a lovely girl, and the 
cottage in which they lived was one of the cosiest, 
and the garden in front was a little paradise of 
neatness and beauty. Ah! I must drop a veil 
over a part of this true tale. All along I have 
written under half protest, the image of a sad, 



68 California Sketches. 

Yvistful face rising at times between my eyes and 
the sheet on which these words are traced. They 
loved each other tenderly and deeply, and both 
were conscious of the presence of the devil that 
was turning their heaven into hell. 

"Save him, Doctor, save him ! He is the noblest 
of men, and the tenderest, truest husband. He 
loves you, and he will let you talk to him. Save 
him, O save him! Help me to pray for him ! My 
heart will break ! " 

Poor child! her loving heart was indeed break- 
ing; and her fresh young life was crushed under a 
weight of grief and shame too heavy to be borne. 

What he said to me in the interviews held in his 
sober intervals I have not the heart to repeat now. 
He still fought against his enemy ; he still buffeted 
the billows that were going over him, though with 
feebler stroke. When their little child died, her 
tears fell freely, but he was like one stunned. 
Stony and silent he stood and saw the little grave 
filled up, and rode away tearless, the picture of 
hopelessness. 

By a coincidence, after my return to San Fran- 
cisco, he came thither, and again became my neigh- 
bor at North Beach. I w^ent up to see him one 
evening. He was very feeble, and it was plain 
that the end was not far off. At the first glance I 
saw that a great change had taken place in him. 



The Reblooming. 69 

He had found his lost self. The strong drink was 
shut out from him, and he was shut in with his 
better thoughts and with God. His religious life 
rebloomed in wondrous beauty and sweetness. The 
blossoms of his early joy had fallen off, the storms 
had torn its branches and stripped it of its foliage, 
but its root had never perished, because he had 
never ceased to struggle for deliverance. Aspira- 
tion and hope live or die together in the human 
soul. The link that bound my friend to God was 
never wholly sundered. His better nature clung 
to the better way with a grasp that never let go 
altogether. 

" O Doctor, I am a wonder to myself! It does 
seem to me that God has given back to me every 
good thing I possessed in the bright and blessed 
past. It has all come back to me. I see the light 
and feel the joy as I did when I first entered the 
new life. O it is wonderful ! Doctor, God never 
gave me up, and I never ceased to yearn for his 
mercy and love, even in the darkest season of my 
unhappy life." 

His very face had recovered its old look, and 
his voice its old tone. There could be no doubt 
of it — his soul had rebloomed in the life of God. 

The last night came — they sent for me with the 
message, 

"Come quickly! he is dying." 



no California Sketches. 

I found him with that look which I have seen 
on the faces of others who were nearing death — a 
radiance and a rapture that awed the beholder. 
O solemn, awful mystery of death ! I have stood 
in its presence in every form of terror and of 
sweetness, and in every case the thought has been 
impressed upon me that it was a passage into the 
Great Realities. 

"Doctor," he said, smiling, and holding my 
hand ; "I had hoped to be with you in your office 
again, as in the old days — not as a business ar- 
rangement, but just to be with you, and revive old 
memories, and to live the old life over again. But 
that cannot be, and I must wait till we meet in the 
world of spirits, whither I go before you. It seems 
to be growing dark. I cannot see your face — hold 
my hand. I am going — going. I am on the waves 
— on the Avaves — ." The radiance was still upon 
his face, but the hand I held no longer clasped 
mine — the wasted form was still. It was the end. 
He was launched upon the Infinite Sea for the 
endless voyage. 



THE EMPEEOE NOKTON. 



THAT was his title. He wore it with an air 
that was a strange mixture of the mock- 
heroic and the pathetic. He was mad on this one 
point, and strangely shrewd and well-informed on 
almost every other. Arrayed in a faded-blue uni- 
form, with brass buttons and epaulettes, wearing a 
cocked-hat with an eagle's feather, and at times 
with a rusty sword at his side, he was a conspicu- 
ous figure in the streets of San Francisco, and a 
regular habitue of all its public places. In person 
he was stout, full-chested, though slightly stooped, 
with a large head heavily coated with bushy black 
hair, an aquiline nose, and dark gray eyes, whose 
mild expression added to the benignity of his face. 
On the end of his nose grew a tuft of long hairs, 
which he seemed to prize as a natural mark of 
royalty, or chieftainship. Indeed, there was a 
popular legend afloat that he was of true royal 
blood — a stray Bourbon, or something of the sort. 

(71) 



12 California Sketches. 

His speech was singularly fluent and elegant. The 
Emperor was one of the celebrities that no visitor 
failed to see. It is said that his mind w^as un- 
hinged by a sudden loss of fortune in the early 
days, by the treachery of a partner in trade. The 
sudden blow was deadly, and the quiet, thrifty, 
afl'able man of business became a wreck. By 
nothing is the inmost quality of a man made more 
manifest than by the manner in which he meets 
misfortune. One, when the sky darkens, having 
strong impulse and weak will, rushes into suicide ; 
another, with a large vein of cowardice, seeks to 
drown the sense of disaster in strong drink; yet 
another, tortured in every fiber of a sensitive or- 
ganization, flees from the scene of his troubles and 
the faces of those that know him, preferring exile 
to shame. The truest man, when assailed by sud- 
den calamity, rallies all the reserved forces of a 
splendid manhood to meet the shock, and, like a 
good ship, lifting itself from the trough of the 
swelling sea, mounts the wave and rides on. It 
was a curious idiosyncrasy that led this man, when 
fortune and reason were swept away at a stroke, 
to fall back upon this imaginary imperialism. The 
nature that could thus, when the real fabric of life 
was wrecked, construct such another by the exer- 
cise of a disordered imagination, must have been 
originally of a gentle and magnanimous type. The 



The Empebob Nobtox. . 73 

broken fragments of mind, like those of a statue, 
reveal the quality of the original creation. It may 
be that he vva,s happier than many who have worn 
real crowns. Napoleon at Chiselhurst, or his 
greater uncle at St. Helena, might have been gain- 
er by exchanging lots with this man, who had the 
inward joy of conscious greatness without its bur- 
den and its perils. To all public places he had 
free access, and no pageant was complete without 
his presence. From time to time he issued procla- 
mations, signed "Norton I.," which the lively San 
Francisco dailies were always ready to print con- 
spicuously in their columns. The style of these 
proclamations was stately, the royal first person 
plural being used by him with all gravity and dig- 
nity. Ev^er and anon, as his uniform became di- 
lapidated or ragged, a reminder of the condition 
of the imperial wardrobe would be given in one or 
more of the newspapers, and then in a few days he 
would appear in a new suit. He had the entree of 
all the restaurants, and he lodged — nobody knew 
where. It was said that he was cared for by mem- 
bers of the Freemason Society to which he be- 
lonsred at the time of his fall. I saw him often 
in my congregation in the Pine-street church, along 
in 1858, and into the sixties. He was a respectful 
and attentive listener to preaching. On the oc- 
casion of one of his first visits he spoke to me 



74 • California Sketches. 

after the service, saying, in a kind and patronizing 
tone : 

" I think it my duty to encourage religion and 
morality by showing myself at church, and to 
avoid jealousy I attend them all in turn." 

He loved children, and would come into the 
Sunday-school, and sit delighted with their sing- 
ing. When, in distributing the presents on a 
Christmas-tree, a necktie was handed him as the 
gift of the young ladies, he received it with much 
satisfaction, making a kingly bow of gracious ac- 
knowledgment. Meeting him one day, in the 
spring-tinie, holding my little girl by the hand, he 
paused, looked at the child's bright face, and tak- 
ing a rose-bud from his button-hole, he presented 
it to her with a manner so graceful, and a smile so 
benignant, as to show that under the dingy blue 
uniform there beat the heart of a gentleman. He 
kept a keen eye on current events, and sometimes 
expressed his views with great sagacity. One day 
he stopped me on the street, saying- 

"I have just read the rejDort of the political 

sermon of Dr. (giving the name of a noted 

sensational preacher, who was in tlie habit, at 
times, of discussing politics from his pulpit). I 
disapprove political - preaching. AVhat do you 
think?" 

I expressed my cordial concurrence. 



The Emperor Norton. 75 

"I will put a stop to it. The preachers must 
stop preaching politics, or they must all come into 
one State Church. I will at once issue a decree to 
that effect." 

For some unknown reason, that decree never was 
promulgated. 

After the war, he took a deep interest in the re- 
construction of the Southern States. I met him one 
day on Montgomery street, when he asked me in a 
tone and with a look of earnest solicitude : 

"Do you hear any complaint or dissatisfaction 
concerning me from the South?" 

I gravely answered in the negative. 

"I was for keeping the country undivided, but 
I have the kindest feeling for the Southern people, 
and will see that they are protected in all their 
rights. Perhaps if I were to go among them in 
person, it might have a good effect. What do you 
think?" 

I looked at him keenly as I made some suitable 
reply, but could see nothing in his expression but 
simple sincerity. He seemed to feel that he was 
indeed the father of his people. George Washing- 
ton himself could not have adopted a more pater- 
nal tone. 

Walking along the street behind the Emperor 
one day, my curiosity was a little excited by see- 
ing him thrust his hand into the hip-pocket of his 



76 California Sketches. 

blue trousers with sudden energy. The hip-pocket, 
by the way, is a modern American stupidity, asso- 
ciated in the popular mind with rowdyism, pistol- 
shooting, and murder. Hip -pockets should be 
abolished wherever there are courts of law and 
civilized men and women. But what was the 
Emperor after? Withdrawing his hand just as I 
overtook him, the mystery was revealed — it grasped 
a thick Bologna sausage, which he began to eat 
with unroyal relish. It gave me a shock, but he 
was not the first royal personage who has exhibited 
low tastes and carnal hankerings. 

He was seldom made sport of or treated rudely. 
I saw him on one occasion when a couple of pass- 
ing hoodlums jeered at him. He turned and gave 
them a look so full of mingled dignity, pain, and 
surprise, that the low fellows were abashed, and 
uttering a forced laugh, with averted faces they 
hurried on. The presence that can bring shame 
to a San Francisco hoodlum must indeed be kingly, 
or in some way impressive. In that genus the 
beastliness and devilishness of American city-life 
reach their lowest denomination. When the bru- 
tality of the savage and the lowest forms of civil- 
ized vice are combined, human nature touches 
bottom. 

The Emperor never spoke of his early life. The 
veil of mystery on this point increased the popu- 



The Emperor Norton. 77. 

lar curiosity concerniDg him, and invested him with 
something of a romantic interest. There was one 
thing that excited his disgust and indignation. 
The Bohemians of the San Francisco press got 
into the practice of attaching his name to their 
satires and hits at current follies, knowing that 
the well-known "Norton I." at the end would in- 
sure a reading. This abuse of the liberty of the 
press he denounced with dignified severity, threat- 
ening extreme measures unless it were stopped. 
But nowhere on earth did the press exhibit more 
audacity, or take a wider range, and it would have 
required a sterner heart and a stronger hand than 
that of Norton I. to put a hook into its jaws. 

The end of all human grandeur, real or imagi- 
nary, comes at last. The Emperor became thinner 
and more stooped as the years passed. The humor 
of his hallucination retired more and more into 
the background, and its pathetic side came out 
more strongly. His step was slow and feeble, and 
there was that look in his eyes so often seen in the 
old and sometimes in the young, just before the 
great change comes — a rapt, far-away look, sug- 
gesting that the invisible is coming into view, tlie 
shadows vanishing and the realities appearing. 
The familiar face and form were missed on the 
streets, and it was known that he was dead. He 
had gone to his lonely lodging, and quietly lain 



78 



Califohnia Ske tciies. 



down and died. The newspapers spoke of liim 
with pity and respect, and all San Francisco took 
time, in the midst of its roar -and -rush fever of 
perpetual excitement, to give a kind thought to 
the dead man who had passed over to the life 
where all delusions are laid aside, where the mys- 
tery of life shall be revealed, and where we shall 
see that through all its tangled w^eb ran the golden 
thread of mercy. His life was an illusion, and 
the thousands who sleep with him in Lone Mount- 
ain waiting the judgment-day were his brothers. 




CAMILLA CAIN. 



SHE was from Baltimore, and had the fair face 
and gentle voice peculiar to most Baltimore 
Avomen. Her organization was delicate but elas- 
tic — one of the sort that bends easily, but is hard 
to break. In her eyes was that look of wistful 
sadness so often seen in holy women of her type. 
Timid as a fawn, in the class-meeting she spoke of 
her love to Jesus and delight in his service in a 
voice low and a little hesitating, but with strangely 
thrilling effect. The meetings were sometimes held 
in her own little parlor in the cottage on Dupont 
street, and then we always felt that we had met 
where the Master himself was a constant and wel- 
come guest. She was put into the crucible. For 
more than fifteen years she suffered unceasing and 
intense bodily pain. Imprisoned in her sick-cham- 
ber, she fouglit her long, hard battle. The pain- 
distorted limbs lost their use, the patient face 
waxed more wan, and the traces of agony were on 

(79) 



80 Califobnia Sketches. 

it always; the soft, loving eyes were often tear- 
washed. The fires were hot, and they burned on 
through the long, long years without respite. The 
mystery of it all was too deep for me; it was too 
deep for her. But somehow it does seem that the 
highest suffer most: 

The sign of rauk in Nature 

Is capacity for pain, 
And the anguish of the singer 

Makes the sweetness of the strain. 

The victory of her faith was complete. If the 
inevitable why? sometimes was in her thought, no 
shadow of distrust ever fell upon her heart. Her 
sick-room was the quietest, brightest spot in all the 
city. How often did I go thither weary and faint 
with the roughness of the way, and leave feeling 
that I had heard the voices and inhaled the odors 
of paradise! A little talk, a psalm, and then a 
prayer, during which the room seemed to be filled 
with angel-presences; after wdiicli the thin, pale 
face w'as radiant with the light reflected from our 
Immanuel's face. I often went to see her, not so 
much to convey as to get a blessing. Her heart 
Avas kept fresh as a rose of Sharon in the dew of 
the morning. The children loved to be near her ; 
and the pathetic face of the dear crippled boy, the 
pet of the family, was always brighter in her pres- 
ence. Thrice death came into the home-circle with 



Camilla Cain. 81 

its shock and mighty wrenchings of the heart, but 
the victory was not his, but hers. Neither death 
nor life could separate her from the love of her 
Lord. She was one of the elect. The elect are 
those who know, having the witness in themselves. 
She was conqueror of both — life with its pain and 
its weariness, death with its terror and its tragedy. 
She did not endure nierel)^, she triumphed. Borne 
on the wings of a mighty faith, her soul was at 
times lifted above all sin, and temptation, and pain, 
and the sweet, abiding peace swelled into an ec- 
stasy of sacred joy. Her swimming eyes and 
rapt look told the unutterable secret. She has 
crossed over the narrow stream on whose margin 
she lingered so long ; and there was joy on the other 
side when the gentle, j^atient, holy Camilla Cain 
joined the glorified throng. 

O thougli oft depressed and lonely, 

All my fears are laid aside. 
If I but remember only 

Sucli as these have lived and died ! 



LONE MOUNTAIN. 

THE sea-wind sweeps over the spot at times 
in gusts like the frenzy of hopeless grief, 
and at times in sighs as gentle as those heaved by 
aged sorrow in sight of eternal rest. The voices 
of the great city come faintly over the sand-hills, 
with subdued murmur like a lullaby to the pale 
sleepers that are here lying low. When the winds 
are quiet, which is not often, the moan of the 
mighty Pacific can be heard day or night, as if 
it voiced in muffled tones the unceasing woe of 
a world under the reign of death. Westward, 
on the summit of a higher hill, a huge cross 
stretches its arms as if embracing the living and 
the dead — the first object that catches the eye of the 
weary voyager as he ncars the Golden Gate, the 
last that meets his lingering gaze as he goes forth 
upon the great waters. O sacred emblem of the 
faitii with which we launch upon life's stormy 
main — of the hope that a.-^sures that we shall reach 
(82) 



Lone Mountain. 83 

the port when the night and tlie tempest are past! 
AVhen the winds are high, the booming of the 
breakers on the cliff sounds as if nature were im- 
patient of the long, long delay, and had antici- 
pated the last thunders that wake the sleeping 
dead. On a clear day, the blue Pacific, stretching 
away beyond the snowy surf-line, symbolizes the 
shoreless sea that rolls through eternity. The 
Cliff House road that runs hard by is the chief 
drive of the pleasure -seekers of San Francisco. 
Gayety, and laughter, and heart-break, and tears, 
meet on the drive; the wail of agony and the 
laugh of gladness mingle as the gay crowds dash 
by the slow-moving procession on its way to the 
grave. How often have I made that slow, sad jour- 
ney to Lone Mountain — a Vice Doloroso to many 
who have never been the same after they had gone 
thither, and coming back found the light quenched 
and the music hushed in their homes! Thither the 
dead Senator was borne, followed by the tramping 
thousands, rank on rank, amid the booming of min- 
ute-guns, the tolling of bells, the measured tread of 
plumed soldiers, and the roll of drums. Thither 
was carried, in his rude coffin, the " unknown 
man " found dead in the streets, to be buried in 
potter's-field. Thither was borne the hard and 
grasping idolater of riches, who clung to his coin, 
and clutched for more, until he was dragged away 



84 California Sketches. 

by the one hand that was colder and stronger than 
his own.' Here was brought the little child, out 
of whose narrow grave there blossomed the begin- 
nings of a new life to the father and mother, who 
in the better life to come will be found among the 
blessed comjDany of those whose only path to par- 
adise lay through the valley of tears. Here were 
brought the many wanderers, whose last earthly 
wish was to go back home, on the other side of the 
mountains, to die, but were denied by the stern 
messenger who never waits nor spares. And here 
was brought the mortal part of the aged disci- 
ple of Jesus, in whose dying- chamber the two 
worlds met, and whose death-throes were demon- 
strably the birth of a child of God into the life of 
glory. 

The first time I ever visited the place was to at- 
tend the funeral of a suicide. The dead man I 
had known in Virginia, when I was a boy. He 
was a graduate of the Virginia Military Institute, 
and when I first knew him he was the captain of 
a famous volunteer company. He was as hand- 
some as a picture — the admiration of the girls, 
and the envy of the young men of his native town. 
He was among the first who rushed to California 
on the discovery of gold, and of all the heroic 
men who gave early California its best bias none 
was knightlier than this handsome Virginian; 



Lone Mountain. 85 

none won stronger friends, or had brighter hopes. 
He was the first State Senator from San Francisco. 
He had the magnetism that won and the nobility 
that retained the love of men. Some men push 
themselves forward by force of intellect or of will 
— this man was pushed upward by his friends be- 
cause he had their hearts. He married a beauti- 
ful woman, whom he loved literally unto death. I 
shall not recite the whole story. God only knows 
it fully, and he will judge righteously. There was 
trouble, rage, and tears, passionate partings and 
penitent reunions — the old story of love dying a 
lingering yet violent death. On the fatal morning 
I met him on Washington street. I noticed his 
manner was hurried and his look peculiar, as I 
gave him the usual salutation and a hearty grasp 
of the hand. As he moved away, I looked after 
him with mingled admiration and pity, until 
his faultless figure turned the corner and disap- 
peared. 

Ten minutes afterward he lay on the floor of his 
room dead, with a bullet through his brain, his 
hair dabbled in blood. At the funeral-service, in 
the little church on Pine street, strong men bowed 
their heads and sobbed. His wife sat on a front 
seat, pale as marble and as motionless, her lips 
compressed as with inward pain ; but I saw no 
tears on the beautiful face. At the grave the 



86 California Sketches. 

body had been lowered to its resting-place, and 
all being ready, the attendants standing with 
uncovered heads, I was just about to begin the 
reading of the solemn words of the burial-service, 
when a tall, blue-eyed man with gray side-^vhiskers 
jiushed his way to the head of the grave, and in a 
voice choked with passion, exclaimed: 

" There lies as noble a gentleman as ever 
breathed, and he owes his death to that fiend!" 
pointing his finger at the wife, who stood pale and 
silent looking down into the grave. 

She gave him a look that 1 shall never forget, 
and the large steely-blue eyes flashed fire, but she 
spoke no word. I spoke : 

" Whatever may be your feelings, or whatever 
the occasion for them, you degrade yourself by 
such an exhibition of them here.'' 

"That is so, sir; excuse me, my feelings over- 
came me," he said, and retiring a few steps, he 
leaned upon a branch of a scrub-oak and sobbed 
like a child. 

The farce and the tragedy of real life were here 
exhibited on another occasion. Among my ac- 
quaintances in the city were a man and his wife 
who were singularly mismatched. He was a plain, 
unlettered, devout man, who in a prayer-meeting 
or class-meeting talked with a simple-hearted ear- 
nestness that always produced a happy effect. 



Lone Mountain. 87 

She was a cultured woman, ambitious and worldly. 
and so fine-looking that in her youth she must 
have been a beauty and a belle. They lived in 
different worlds, and grew wider apart as time passed 
by — he giving himself to religion, she giving her- 
self to the world. In the gay city circles in 
which she moved she was a little ashamed of the 
quiet, humble old man, and he did not feel at 
home among them. There was no formal separa- 
tion, but it was known to the friends of the family 
that for months at a time they never lived together. 
The fashionable daughters went with their mother. 
The good old man, after a short sickness, died in 
great peace. I was sent for to officiate at the 
funeral-service. There was a large gathering of 
people, and a brave parade of all the externals of 
grief, but it was mostly dry-eyed grief, so far as I 
could see. At the grave, just as the sun that was 
sinking in the ocean threw his last rays upon the 
spot, and the first shovelful of earth fell upon the 
coffin that had been gently lowered to its resting- 
place, there was a piercing shriek from one of the 
carriages, followed by the exclamation: 

"What shall I do? How can I live? I have 
lost my all! O! O! O!" 

It was the dead man's wife. Significant glances 
and smiles were interchanged by the by-standers. 
Approaching the carriage in which the woman 



88 California Sketches. 

was sitting, I laid my hand upon her arm, looked 
her in the face, and said : 

"Hush!" 

She understood me, and not another sound did 
she utter. Poor woman ! She was not perhaps as 
heartless as they thought she was. There was at 
least a little remorse in those forced exclamations, 
when she thought of the dead man in the coffin ; 
but her eyes were dry, and she stopped very short. 

Another incident recurs to me that points in a 
different direction. One day the most noted gam- 
bler in San Francisco called on me with the re- 
quest that I should attend the funeral of one of his 
friends, who had died the night before. A splendid- 
looking fellow was this knight of the faro-table. 
More than six feet in height, with deep chest and 
perfectly rounded limbs, jet black hair, brilliant 
black eyes, clear olive complexion, and easy man- 
ners, he might have been taken for an Italian no- 
bleman or a Spanish Don. He had a tinge of 
Cherokee blood in his veins. I have noticed that 
this cross of the white and Cherokee blood often 
results in producing this magnificent physical de- 
velopment. I have known a number of women of 
this lineage, who were very (jueens in their beauty 
and carriage. But this noted gambler was illiter- 
ate. The only book of which he knew or cared 
much was one that had fifty-two pages, with twelve 



Lone Mouxtaix. • 89 

pictures. If he had been educated, he might have 
handled the reins of government, instead of pre- 
siding over a nocturnal banking institution. 

" Parson, can you come to number , on Kear- 
ney street, to-morrow at ten o'clock, and give us a 
few words and a prayer over a friend of mine, who 
died last night?" 

I promised to be there, and he left. 

His friend, like himself, had been a gambler. 
He was from New York, He was well educated, 
gentle in his manners, and a general favorite with 
the rough and desperate fellows with whom he as- 
sociated, but with whom he seemed out of place. 
The passion for gambling had put its terrible spell 
on him, and he was helpless in its grasp. But 
though he mixed with the crowds that thronged 
the gambling-hells, he was one of them only in the 
absorbing passion for play. There was a certain 
respect shown him by all that venturesome frater- 
nity. He went to Frazer River during the gold 
excitement. In consequence of exposure and pri- 
vation in that wild chase after gold, Avhich proved 
fatal to so many eager adventurers, he contracted 
pulmonary disease, and came back to San Fran- 
cisco to die. He had not a dollar. His gambler 
friend took charge of him, placed him in a good 
boarding-place, hired a nurse for him, and for 
nearly a year provided for all his wants. 



90 Califobxia Sketches. 

"I kuew him wheu he was in better luck," said 
he, "aud felt like I ought to stand by him." 

At the funeral there was a large attendance of 
gamblers, with a sprinkling of women whose social 
status was not clearly defined to my mind. During 
the solemn service there was deep feeling. Down 
the bronzed face of the noted gambler the tears 
flowed freely, as he stood near the foot of the coffin. 
As he listened to those thrilling words from the 
fifteenth chapter of First Corinthians, there was a 
look of wonder, and inquiry, and awe on his face. 
What were his thoughts ? At the cemetery they low- 
ered the body tenderly into the grave, listened with 
uncovered heads to the closing words of the ritual 
for the burial of the dead, and then dispersed, 
doubtless going back to the old life, but it may be 
with some better thoughts. 

I was sitting in my office at work on the same 
afternoon, when the tall and portly form of the 
gambler presented itself. 

"Parson, you went through that funeral this 
morning in a way that suited me. Take this, with 
my thanks." 

As he spoke he extended his hand with ever so 
many shining gold pieces — twenties, tens, and fives. 

" No," I said ; " it is contrary to the usage of my 
Church and to my own taste to take pay for bury- 
ing a fellow-man." 



Lone Mountain. 91 

After thoughtfully considering a moment, he 
said : 

"That suits me. But would you object to wear- 
ing a little trinket on your watch-chain, coming 
from a man like me ?" 

Seeing his heart was set on it, I told him I would 
not decline taking such a token of his good-will. 
The gift of a most beautiful and costly Japanese 
crystal was the result. I wore it for many years, 
and when it was lost at Los Angeles, in 1877, I 
felt quite sorry. It reminded me of an incident 
that showed the good side of human nature in a 
circle in which the other side is usually uppermost. 

My pencil lingers, as I think of this far-away 
resting-place of the dead, and as I lay it down, I 
seem to hear the ocean's moan and the dirge of 
the winds ; and the pale images of many, many 
faces that have faded away into the darkness of 
death rise before me, some of them with radiant 
smiles and beckoning hands. 



NEWTON. 



THE miners called him the " Wandering Jew." 
That was behind his back. To his face they 
addressed him as Father Newton. He walked his 
circuits in the northern mines. No pedestrian 
could keep up with him, as with his long form 
bending forward, his immense yellow beard that 
reached to his breast floating in the wind, he strode 
from camp to camp with the message of salvation. 
It took a good trotting - horse to keep pace with 
him. Many a stout prospector, meeting him on a 
highway, after panting and straining to bear him 
company, had to fall behind, gazing after him in 
wonder, as he swept out of sight at that marvelous 
gait. There was a glitter in his eye, and an in- 
tensity of gaze that left you in doubt whether it 
was genius or madness that it bespoke. It was, in 
truth, a little of both. He had genius. Nobody 
ever talked with him, or heard him preach, with- 
out finding it out. The rough fellow who oflfended 
(92) 



ISEWTON. 93 

him at a canip-mceting, near "Yankee Jim's," no 
doubt thought him mad. He was making some 
disturbance just as the long-bearded okl preacher 
was passing with a bucket of water in his hand. 

"What do you mean?" he thundered, stopping 
and fixing his keen eye upon the rowdy. 

A rude and profane reply was made by the jeer- 
ing sinner. 

Quick as thought Newton rushed upon him with 
flashing eye and uplifted bucket, a picture of fiery 
wrath that was too much for the thoughtless scof- 
fer, who fled in terror amid the laughter of the 
crowd. The vanquished son of Belial had no 
sympathy from anybody, and the plucky preacher 
was none the less esteemed because he was ready 
to defend his Master's cause with carnal weapons. 
The early Californians left scarcely any path of 
sin unexplored, and were a sad set of sinners, but 
for virtuous women and religion they never lost 
their reverence. Both were scarce in those days, 
when it seemed to be thought that gold-digging 
and the Decalogue could not be made to harmon- 
ize. The pioneer preachers found that one good 
woman made a better basis for evangelization than 
a score of nomadic bachelors. The first accession 
of a woman to a church in the mines was an 
epoch in its history. The church in the house of 
Lydia was the normal type — it must be anchored 



94 Califobxia Sketches. 

to woman's faith, and tenderness, and love, in the 
home. 

He visited San Francisco during my pastorate 
in 1858. On Sunday morning he preached a ser- 
mon of such extraordinary beauty and power that 
at the night-service the house was crowded by a 
curious congregation, drawn tliither by the report 
of the forenoon effort. His subject was the fiiith 
of the mother of Moses, and he handled it in his 
own way. The powerful effect of one passage I 
shall never forget. It was a description of the 
mother's struggle, and the victory of her faith in 
the crisis of her trial. No longer able to protect 
her child, she resolves to commit him to her God. 
He drew a picture of her as she sat weaving to- 
gether the grasses of the little ark of bulrushes, 
her hot tears falling upon her work, and pausing 
from time to time with her hand pressed upon her 
throbbing heart. At length, the little vessel is 
finished, and she goes by night to the bank of the 
Nile, to take the last chance to save her boy from 
the knife of the murderers. Approaching the 
river's edge, with the ark in her hands, she stoops 
a moment, but her mother's heart fails her. How 
can she give up her child? In frenzy of grief she 
sinks upon her knees, and lifting her gaze to the 
heavens, passionately prays to the God of Israel. 
That prayer! It was the wail of a breaking heart. 



Newton. 95 

a cry out of the depths of a mighty agony. But 
as she prays the inspiration of God enters her soul, 
her eyes kindle, and her face beams with the holy 
light of faith. She rises, lifts the little ark, looks 
upon the sleeping face of the fair boy, prints a 
long, long kiss upon his brow, and then w4th a 
firm step she bends down, and placing the tiny 
vessel upon the waters, lets it go. "And away it 
went," he said, "rocking upon the waves as it 
swept beyond the gaze of the mother's straining 
eyes. The monsters of the deep were there, the 
serpent of the Nile was there, behemoth w^as there, 
but the child slept as sweetly and as safely upon 
the rocking waters as if it were nestled upon its 
mother's breast — for^ God wc;s there /^^ The effect 
was electric. The concluding words, "for God was 
there! " were uttered with upturned face and lifted 
hands, and in a tone of voice that thrilled the 
hearers like a sudden clap of thunder from a cloud 
over whose bosom the lightnings had rippled in 
gentle flashes. It was true eloquence. 

In a revival -meeting, on another occasion, he 
said, in a sermon of terrific power: "O the hard- 
ness of the human heart! Yonder is a man in 
hell. He is told that there is one condition on 
which he may be delivered, and that is that he 
must get the consent of every good being in the 
universe. A ray of hope enters his soul, and he 



96 California Sketches. 

sets out to comply with the condition. He visits 
heaven and earth, and finds sympathy and consent 
from all. All the holy angels consent to his par- 
don ; all the pure and holy on earth consent; God 
himself repeats the assurance of his willingness 
that he may be saved. Even in hell, the devils do 
not object, knowing that his misery only heightens 
theirs. All are willing, all are ready — all but 
one man. He refuses; he will not consent. A 
monster of cruelty and wickedness, he refuses his 
simple consent to save a soul from an eternal hell ! 
Surely a good God and all good beings in the uni- 
verse would turn in horror from such a monster. 
Sinner, you are that man! The blessed God, the 
Holy Trinity, every angel in heaven, every good 
man and woman on earth, are not only willing but 
anxious that you shall be saved. But you will not 
consent. You refuse to come to Jesus that you 
may have life. You are the murderer of your 
own immortal soul. You drag yourself down to 
hell. You lock the door of your own dungeon of 
eternal despair, and throw the key into the bot- 
tomless pit, by rejecting the Lord that bought you 
with his blood! You will be lost! you must be 
lost! you ought to be lost!" 

The words were something like these, but the 
energy, the passion, the frenzy of the speaker must 
be imagined. Hard and stubborn hearts were 



Newtox, 97 

moved imder that thrilling appeal. They were 
made to feel that the preacher's picture of a sell 
doomed soul described their own cases. There was 
joy ill heaven that night over repenting sinners. 

This old man of the mountains was a walking 
encyclopedia of theological and other learning. 
He owned books that could not be duplicated in 
California ; and he read them, digested their con- 
tents, and constantly surprised his cultivated hear- 
ers by the affluence of his knowledge, and the fer- 
tility of his literary and classic allusion. He wrote 
with elegance and force. His weak point was or- 
thography. He would trip sometimes in tlie spell- 
ing of the most common words. His explanation 
of this weakness was curious: He was a printer 
in Mobile, Alabama. On one occasion a thirty- 
two-page book-form of small type was "pied." "I 
undertook," said he, "to set that pied form to 
rights, and, in doing so, the words got so mixed in 
my brain that my spelling was spoiled forever! " 

He went to Oregon, and traveled and preached 
from the Cascade Mountains to Idaho, thrilling, 
melting, and amusing, in turn, the crowds that 
came out to hear the wild-looking man whose com- 
ing was so sudden, and whose going was so rapid, 
that they were lost in wonder, as if gazing at a 
meteor that flashed across the sky. 

He was a Yankee from New Hampshire, who, 



98 



California Sketches. 



going to Alabama, lost his heart, and was ever 
afterward intensely Southern in all his convictions 
and affections. His fiery soul found congenial 
spirits among the generous, hot-blooded people of 
the Gulf States, whose very faults had a sort of 
charm for this impulsive, generous, erratic, gifted, 
man. He made his way back to his New England 
hills, where he is waiting for the sunset, often turn- 
ing a longing eye southward, and now and then 
sending a greeting to Alabama. 



THE CALIFOENIA POLITICIAN. 



THE California politician of the early days 
was plucky. He had to be so, for faint heart 
won no votes in those rough times. One of the 
Marshalls (Tom or Ned— I forget which), at the 
beginning of a stump -speech one night in the 
mines, was interrupted by a storm of hisses and 
execrations from a turbulent crowd of fellows, 
many of whom were full of whisky. He paused 
a moment, drew himself up to his full height, 
coolly took a pistol from his pocket, laid it on the 
stand before him, and said : 

"I have seen bigger crowds than this many 
a time. I want it to be fully understood that I 
came here to make a speech to-night, and I am 
going to do it, or else there will be a funeral or 
two." 

That touch took with that crowd. The one 
thing they all believed in was courage. Marshall 
made one of his grandest speeches, and at the close 

(99) 



100 Califobxia Sketches. 

the delighted miners bore him in triumph from the 
rostrum. 

That was a curious exordium of "Uncle Peter 
Mehan," ^vhen he made his first stump-speech at 
Sonora: " Fellow-citizens, Iivas born an orphin at a 
very early joeriod of my life." He was a candidate 
for supervisor, and the good-natured miners elected 
him triumphantly. He made a good supervisor, 
which is another proof that book-learning and ele- 
gant rhetoric are not essential where there are in- 
tegrity and native good sense. Uncle Peter never 
stole any thing, and he was usually on the right 
side of all questions that claimed the attention of 
the county-fathers of Tuolumne. 

In the early days, the Virginians, New Yorkers, 
and Tennesseans, led in politics. Trained to the 
stump at home, the Virginians and Tennesseans 
were ready on all occasions to run a primary- 
meeting, a convention, or a canvass. There was 
scarcely a mining-camp in the State in which there 
was not a leading local politician from one or both 
of these States. The New Yorker understood all 
the inside management of party organization, and 
was up to all the smart tactics developed in the live- 
ly struggles of parties in the times when Whiggery 
and Democracy fiercely fought for rule in the Em- 
pire State. Broderick was a New Yorker, trained 
by Tammany in its palmy days. He was a chief, 



The California Politician. 101 

who rose from the ranks, and ruled by force of 
will. Thick-set, strong-limbed, full-chested, with 
immense driving -power in his back -head, he Avas 
an athlete whose stalwart phjsique was of more 
value to him than the gift of eloquence, or even 
the power of money. The sharpest lawyers and 
the richest money-kings alike went down before 
this uncultured and moneyless man, who domi- 
nated the clans of San Francisco simply by right 
of his manhood. He Avas not .without a sort of 
eloquence of his own. He spoke right to the point, 
and his words fell like the thud of a shillalah, or 
rang like the clash of steel. He dealt with the 
rough elements of politics in an exciting and tur- 
bulent period of California politics, and was more 
of a border chief than an Ivanhoe in his modes of 
warfare. He reached the United States Senate, 
and in his first speech in that august body he hon- 
ored his manhood by an allusion to his father, a 
stone-mason, whose hands, said Broderick, had 
helped to erect the very walls of the chamber in 
which he spoke. When a man gets as high as the 
United States Senate, there is less tax upon his 
magnanimity in acknowledging his hundile origin 
than while he is lower down the ladder. You sel- 
dom hear a man boast how low he began until 
he is far up toward the suuimit of his ambition. 
Ninety-nine out of every hundred self-made men 



102 Califobnia Sketches. 

are at first more or less sensitive concerning their 
low birth ; the hundredth man who is not is a 
man indeed. 

Broderick's great rival was Gwin. The men 
were antipodes in every thing except that they be- 
longed to the same party. Gwin still lives, the 
most colossal figure in the history of California, 
He looks the man he is. Of immense frame, rud- 
dy complexion, deep-blue eyes that almost blaze 
when he is excited, rugged yet expressive features, 
a massive head crowned with a heavy suit of sil- 
ver-white hair, he is marked by Nature for leader- 
ship. Common men seem dwarfed in his presence. 
After he had dropped out of California politics for 
awhile, a Sacramento hotel-keeper expressed what 
many felt during a legislative session : " I find my- 
self looking around for Gwin. I miss the chief" 

My first acquaintance with Dr. Gwin began with 
an incident that illustrates the man and the times. 
It was in 1856. The Legislature was in session at 
Sacramento, and a United States Senator was to 
be elected. I was making a tentative movement 
toward starting a Southern Methodist newspaper, 
and visited Sacramento on that business. My 
friend Major P. L. Solomon was there, and took 
a friendly interest in my enterprise. He proposed 
to introduce me to the leading men of both parties, 
and I thankfully availed myself of his courtesy. 



The California Politician. 103 

Among the first to whom he presented me was a 
noted politician who, both before and since, has 
enjoyed a national notoriety, and Avho still lives, 
and is as ready as ever to talk or fight. His name 
I need not give. I presented to him my mission, 
and he seemed embarrassed. 

"I am with you, of course. My mother was a 
Methodist, and all my sympathies are with the 
Methodist Church. I am a Southern man in all 
my convictions and impulses, and I am a Southern 
Methodist in principle. But you see, sir, I am a 
candidate for United States Senator, and sectional 
feeling is likely to enter into the contest, and if it 
were known that my name was on your list of sub- 
scribers, it might endanger my election." 

He squeezed my arm, told me he loved me and 
my Church, said he would be happy to see me 
often, and so forth — but he did not give me his 
name. I left him, saying in my heart, Here is a 
politician. 

Going on together, in the corridor w^e met Gwin. 
Solomon introduced me, and told him my business. 

"I am glad to know that you are going to start a 
Southern Methodist newspaper. No Church can do 
without its organ. Put me down on your list, and 
come with me, and I will make all these fellows 
subscribe. There is not much religion among them, 
I fear, but we will make them take the paper." 



104 California Sketches. 

This was said in a hearty and pleasant way, and 
he took me from man to man, until I had gotten 
more than a dozen names, among them two or 
three of his most active political opponents. 

This incident exhibits the two types of the poli- 
tician, and the two classes of men to be found in 
all communities — the one all "blarney" and self- 
ishness, the other with real manhood redeeming 
poor human nature, and saving it from utter con- 
tempt. The senatorial prize eluded the grasp of 
both aspirants, but the reader will not be at a loss 
to guess whose side I was on. Dr. Gwin made a 
friend that day, and never lost him. It was this 
sort of fidelity to friends that, when fortune frowned 
on the grand old Senator after the collapse at Ap- 
pomattox, rallied thousands of true hearts to his 
side, among whom were those who had fought him 
in many a fierce political battle. Broderick and 
Gwin were both, by a curious turn of political 
fortune, elected by the same Legislature to the 
United States Senate. Broderick sleeps in Lone 
Mountain, and Gwin still treads the stage of his 
former glory, a living monument of the days when 
California politics was half romance and half 
tragedy. The friend and jirotege of General An- 
drew Jackson, a member of the first Constitutional 
Convention of California, twice United States Sen- 
ator, a prominent figure in the civil war, the father 



The California Politician. 105 

of the great Pacific Railway, he is the front figure 
on the canvas of California history. 

Gwin ^Yas sncceeded by McDougall. What a 
man was he! His face was as classic as a Greek 
statue. It spoke the student and the scholar in 
every line. His hair was snow-white, his eyes 
bluish-gray, and his form sinewy and elastic. He 
went from Illinois, with Baker and other men of 
genius, and soon won a high place at the bar of 
San Francisco. I heard it said, by an eminent 
jurist, that when McDougall had put his whole 
strength into the examination of a case, his side 
of it was exhausted. His reading was immense, 
his learning solid. His election was doubtless a 
surprise to himself as well as to the California 
public. The day before he left for Washington 
City, I met him in the street, and as we parted I 
held his hand a moment, and said : 

"Your friends will watch your career with hope 
and with fear." 

He knew what I meant, and said, quickly : 

"I understand you. You are afraid that I 
will yield to my weakness for strong drink. 
But you may be sure I will play the man, and 
California shall have no cause to blush on my 
account." 

That was his fatal weakness. No one, looking 
upon his pale, scholarly face, and noting his fault- 



106 California Sketches. 

lessly neat aj^parel, and easy, graceful manners, 
would have thought of such a thing. Yet he was 
a — I falter in writing it — a drunkard. At times 
he drank deeply and madly. AVhen half intoxi- 
cated he was almost as brilliant as Hamlet, and as 
rollicking as Falstaff. It was said that even when 
fully drunk his splendid intellect never entirely 
gave way. 

"McDougall commands as much attention in 
the Senate when drunk as any other Senator does 
when sober," said a Congressman in Washington 
in 1866. It is said that his great speech on the 
question of "confiscation," at the beginning of the 
war, was delivered when he was in a state of semi- 
intoxication. Be that as it may, it exhausted the 
whole question, and settled the policy of the Gov- 
ernment. 

"No one will watch your senatorial career with 
more friendly interest than myself; and if you will 
abstain wholly from all strong drink, we shall all 
be proud of you, I know." 

"Not a drop will I touch, my friend; and I'll 
make you proud of me." 

He spoke feelingly, and I think there was a 
moisture about his eye as he pressed my hand and 
walked away. 

I never saw him again. For the first few months 
he wrote to me often, and then his letters came at 



The California Politician. 107 

longer intervals, and then they ceased. And then 
the newspapers disclosed the shameful secret — Cal- 
ifornia's brilliant Senator was a drunkard. The 
temptations of the Capital were too strong for him. 
He went down into the black waters a complete 
wreck. He returned to the old home of his boy- 
hood in New Jersey to die. I learned that he was 
lucid and penitent at the last. They brought his 
body back to San Francisco to be buried, and when 
at his funeral the words "I know that my Re- 
deemer liveth," in clear soprano, rang through the 
vaulted cathedral like a peal of triumph, I in- 
dulged the hope that the sjjirit of my gifted and 
fated friend had, through the mercy of the Friend 
of sinners, gone from his boyhood hills up to the 
hills of God. 

The typical California politician was Coffroth. 
The "boys" fondly called him "Jim" Coffroth. 
There is no surer sign of popularity than a popular 
abbreviation of this sort, unless it is a pet nick- 
name. Coffroth was from Pennsylvania, where he 
had gained an inkling of politics and general liter- 
ature. He gravitated into California politics by 
the law of his nature. He was born for this, hav- 
ing what a friend calls the gift of popularity. His 
presence was magnetic; his laugh was contagious; 
his enthusiasm irresistible. Nobody ever thought 
of taking offense at Jim Coffroth. He could 



108 Califobnia Sketches. 

change his politics with imi^iinity without losing 
11 friend — he never had a personal enemy; but 
I believe he only made that experiment once. He 
went off with the Know-nothings in 1855, and was 
elected by them to the State vSeuate, and was called 
to preside over their State Convention. He has- 
tened back to his old party associates, and at the 
first convention that met in his county on his re- 
turn from the Legislature, he rose and told them 
how lonesome he had felt while astray from the 
old fold, how glad he was to get back, and how 
humble he felt, concluding by advising all his late 
supporters to do as he had done by taking "a 
straight chute" for the old party. He ended amid 
a storm of applause, was reinstated at once, and 
was made President of the next Democratic State 
Convention. There he was in his glory. His tact 
and good humor were infinite, and he held those" 
hundreds of excitable and explosive men in the 
hollow of his hand. He would dismiss a danger- 
ous motion with a witticism so apt that the mover 
himself would join in the laugh, and give it up. 
His broad face in repose was that of a Quaker, at 
other times that of a Bacchus. There was a relig- 
ious streak in this jolly partisan, and he published 
several poems that breathed the sweetest and loft- 
iest religious sentiment. The newspapers were a 
little disposed to make a joke of these ebullitions 



The California Politiciax. 109 

of devotional feeling, but they now make the light 
that casts a gleam of brightness upon the back- 
ground of his life. I take from an old volume of 
the Christian Spectator one of these poems as a lit- 
erary curiosity. Every man lives two lives. The 
rollicking politician, "Jim Coifroth," every Cali- 
fornian knew; the author of these lines was an- 
other man by the same name : 

Amid the Silence of the Night. 

"Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep." 
Psalm cxxi. 

Amid the. silence of the night, 
Amid its lonely hours and dreary, 

Wlien we close the aching sight, 
Musing sadly, lorn and weary, 

Trusting that to-morrow's light 
May reveal a day more cheery ; 

Amid affliction's darker hour, 

When no hope beguiles our sadness, 

When Death's hurtling tempests lower, 
And forever shroud our gladness. 

While Grief's unrelenting power 

Goads our stricken hearts to madness ; 

When from friends beloved we 're parted. 

And from scenes our spirits love. 
And are driven, broken-hearted. 

O'er a heartless world to rove ; 
When the woes by which Ave've smarted, 

Vainly seek to melt or move; 



no California Sketches. 

When we trust and are deluded, 

When we love and are denied, 
AVhen the schemes o'er which we brooded 

Burst like mist on mountain's side, 
And, from every hope excluded, 

We in dark despair abide ; 

Then, and ever, God sustains us, 
He whose eye no slumber knoAVS, 

Who controls each throb tliat pains us, 
And in mercy sends our Avoes, 

And by love severe constrains us 
To avoid eternal throes. 

Happy he whose heart obeys him ! 

Lost and ruined who disown ! 
O if idols e'er disj^lace him. 

Tear them from his chosen throne ! 
May our lives and language praise him ! 

May our hearts be his alone! 

He took defeat with a good nature that robbed 
it of its stijig, and made his political opponents 
half sorry for having beaten him. He was talked 
of for Governor at one time, and he gave as a 
reason why he would like the office that " a great 
many of his friends were in the State-prison, and 
he wanted to use the pardoning power in their be- 
half." This was a jest, of course, referring to the 
fact that as a lawyer much of his practice was in 
the criminal courts. He was never suspected of 
treachery or dishonor in public or private life. 



The Califobnia Politician. Ill 

His very ambition was uDselfish : lie was always 
ready to sacrifice himself in a hopeless candidacy 
if he could thereby help his party or a friend. 

His good nature was tested once while presiding 
over a party convention at Sonora for the nomina- 
tion of candidates for legislative and county of- 
fices. Among the delegates was the eccentric John 
Vallew, whose mind was a singular compound of 
shrewdness and flightiness, and was stored with the 
most out-of-the-way scraps of learning, philosophy, 
and poetry. Some one proposed Vallew's name 
as a candidate for the Legislature. He rose to his 
feet with a clouded face, and in an angry voice 
said : 

"Mr. President, I am surprised and mortified. 
I have lived in this county more than seven years, 
and I have never had any difficulty with my neigh- 
bors. I did not know that I had an enemy in the 
world. What have I done, that it should be pro- 
posed to send me to the Legislature? What reason 
has anybody to think I am that sort of a man? 
To think I should have come to this! To propose 
to send me to the Legislature, when it is a notorious 
fact that you have never sent a man thither from 
this county ivlio did not come hack morally and pe- 
cuniarily ruined ! " 

The crowd saw the point, and roared with laugh- 
ter, CoflTroth, who had served in the previous ses- 



112 



Califobnia Sketches. 



siou, joining heartily in the merriment. Vallew 
was excused. 

Coffroth grew fatter and jollier ; his strong intel- 
lect struggled against increasing sensual tenden- 
cies. What the issue. might have been, I know not. 
He died suddenly, and his destiny was transferred 
to another sphere. So there dropped out of Cali- 
fornia-life a partisan without bitterness, a satirist 
without malice, a wit without a sting, the j oiliest, 
freest, readiest man that ever faced a California 
audience on the hustings — the typical politician of 
California. 



OLD MAN LOWKY. 

I HAD marked his expressive physiognomy 
among my hearers in the little church in So- 
nora for some weeks before he made himself 
known to me. As I learned afterward, he was 
weighing the young preacher in his critical bal- 
ances. He had a shrewd Scotch face, in Avhich 
there was a mingling of keenness, benignity, and 
humor. His age might be sixty, or it might be 
more. He was an old bachelor, and wide guesses 
are sometimes made as to the ages of that class of 
men. They may not live longer than married 
men, but they do not show the effects of life's wear 
and tear so early. He came to see us one evening. 
He fell in love with the mistress of the parsonage, 
just as he ought to have done, and we were 
charmed with the quaint old bachelor. There 
was a piquancy, a sharp flavor, in his talk that was 
delightful. His aphorisms often crystallized a neg- 
lected truth in a form all his own. He was an 
8 (113) 



114 California Sketches. 

original character. There was nothing common- 
place about him. He had his own way of saying 
and doing every thing. 

Society in the mines was limited in that day, 
and we felt that we had found a real thesaurus in 
this old man of unique mold. His visits were re- 
freshing to us, and his plain-spoken criticisms were 
helpful to me. 

He had left the Church because he did not 
agree with the preachers on some points of Chris- 
tian ethics, and because they used tobacco. But 
he was unhappy on the outside, and finding that my 
views and habits did not happen to cross his pecul- 
iar notions, he came back. His religious experience 
was out of the common order. Bred a Calvinist, 
of the good old Scotch-Presbyterian type, he had 
swung away from that faith, and was in danger of 
rushing into Universalism, or infidelity. That 
once famous and much-read little book, "John 
Nelson's Journal," fell into his hands, and changed 
his whole life. It led him to Christ, and to the 
Methodists. He was a true spiritual child of the 
unflinching Yorkshire stone-cutter. Like him he 
despised half-way measures, and like him he was 
aggressive in thought and action. What he liked 
he loved, what he disliked he hated. Calvinism 
he abhorred, and he let no occasion pass for pouring 
into it the hot shot of his scorn and Nvrath. One 



Old Man Low by. lib 

night I preached from the text, Should it he accord- 
ing to thy mindf 

"The first part of your sermon," he said to me 
as we passed out of the church, "distressed me 
greatly. For a full half hour you preached straight- 
out Calvinism, and I thought you had ruined 
every thing; but you had left a little slip-gap, and 
crawled out at the last." 

His ideal of a minister of the gospel was Dr. 
Keener, whom he knew at New Orleans before 
coming to California. He was the first man I 
ever heard mention Dr. Keener's npane for the 
episcopacy. There Avas much in common between 
them. If my eccentric California bachelor friend 
did not have as strong and cool a head, he had as 
brave and true a heart as the incisive and chival- 
rous Louisiana preacher, upon whose head the 
miter was placed by the suffrage of his brethren 
at Louisville in 1874. 

He became very active as a worker in the 
Church. I made him class-leader, and there have 
been few in that office who brought to its sacred 
duties as much spiritual insight, candor, and ten- 
derness. At times his words flashed like diamonds, 
showing what the Bible can reveal to a solitary 
thinker who makes it his chief study day and 
night. When needful, he could apply caustic that 
burned to the very core of an error of opinion or of 



116 Califobxia Sketches. 

practice. He took a class in tlie Sunday-school, 
aud his freshness, acuteness, humor, and deep 
knowledge of the Scriptures, made him far more 
than an ordinary teacher. A fine pocket Bible 
was offered as a prize to the scholar who should, 
in three months, memorize the greatest number of 
Scrij^ture verses. The wisdom of such a contest 
is questionable to me now, but it was the fashion 
then, and I was too young and self-distrustful to set 
myself against the current in such matters. The 
contest was an exciting one — two boys, Robert 
A and Jonathan R , and one girl, An- 
nie P , leading all the school. Jonathan 

suddenly fell behind, and was soon distanced by 
his two competitors. Lowry, who was his teacher, 
asked him what was the reason of his sudden 
breakdown. The boy blushed, and stammered out : 

"I didn't want to beat Annie." 

Robert won the prize, and the day came for its 
presentation. The house was full, and everybody 
was in a pleasant mood. After the prize had been 
presented in due form and with a little flourish, 
Lowry arose, and producing a costly Bible, in a 
few words telling how magnanimously and gallantly 
Jonathan had retired from the contest, presented 
it to the pleased and blushing boy. The boys and 
girls applauded California fashion, and the old 
man's face glowed with satisfaction. He had in 



Old Man Lowhy. 117 

him curiously mingled the elements of the Puritan 
and the Cavalier — the uncomjDromising persistency 
of the one, and the chivalrous impulse and open- 
handedness of the other. 

The old man had too many crotchets and too 
much combativeness to be popular. He spared no 
opinion or habit he did not like. He struck every 
angle Avithin reach of him. In the state of so- 
ciety then existing in the mines there were many 
things to vex his soul, and keep him on the war- 
path. The miners looked upon him as a brave, 
good man, just a little daft. He worked a mining- 
claim on Wood's Creek, north of town, and lived 
alone in a tiny cabin on the hill above. That was 
the smallest of cabins, looking like a mere box 
from the trail which wound through the flat be- 
low. Two little scrub-oaks stood near it, under 
which he sat and read his Bible in leisure mo- 
ments. There, above the world, he could com- 
mune with his own heart and with God undis- 
turbed, and look down upon a race he half pitied 
and half despised. From the spot the eye took in 
a vast sweep of hill and dale : Bald Mountain, 
the most striking object in the near background, 
and beyond its dark, rugged mass the snowy sum- 
mits of the Sierras, rising one above another, like 
gigantic stair-steps, leading up to the throne of the 
Eternal. This lonely height suited Lowry's strange- 



118 Califorxia Sketches. 

ly compounded nature. As a cynic, lie looked down 
with contempt upon the petty life that seethed and 
frothed in the camps below; as a saint, he looked 
forth upon the wonders of God's handiwork 
around and above him. 

There Avas an intensity in all that he did. Pass- 
ing his mining -claim on horseback one day, I 
paused to look at him in his work. Clad in a blue 
flannel mining -suit, he was digging as for life. 
The embankment of red dirt and gravel melted 
away rapidly before his vigorous strokes, and he 
seemed to feel a sort of fierce delight in his work. 
Pausing a moment, he looked up and saw me. 

" You dig as if you were in a hurry," I said. 

" Yes, I have been digging here three years. I 
have a notion that I have just so much of the 
earth to turn over before I am turned under," he 
replied with a sort of grim humor. 

He was still there when we visited Sonora in 
1857. He invited us out to dinner, and we went. 
By skillful circling around the hill, we reached the 
little cabin on the summit Avith horse and buggy. 
The old man had made preparations for his ex- 
pected guests. The floor of the cabin had been 
swept, and its scanty store of furniture put to 
rights, and a dinner was cooking in and on the 
little stove. His lady-guest insisted on helping in 
the preparation of the dinner, but was allowed to 



Old Man Lowry. 119 

do nothing further than to arrange the dishes on 
the primitive table, which was set out under one of 
the little oaks in the yard. It was a miner's feast — 
can-fruits, can-vegetables, can-oysters, can-pickles, 
can-every thing nearly, with tea distilled from 
the Asiatic leaf by a receipt of his own. It was 
a hot day, and from the cloudless heavens the sun 
flooded the earth with his glory, and the shimmer 
of the sunshine was in the still air. We tried to be 
cheerful, but there was a pathos about the affair 
that touched us. He felt it too. More than once 
there was a tear in his eye. At parting, he kissed 
little Paul, and gave us his hand in silence. As 
we drove down the hill, he stood gazing after us 
with a look fixed and sad. The picture is still be- 
fore me — the lonely old man standing sad and si- 
lent, the little cabin; the rude dinner-service under 
the oak, and the overarching sky. That was our 
last meeting. The next will be on the Other Side. 



SUICIDE IN CALIFOENIA. 



A HALF 251'otest rises Avithiii me as I be- 
gin this Sketch. The page almost turns 
crimson under my gaze, and shadowy forms come 
forth out of the darkness into which they wildly 
plunged out of life's misery into death's mystery. 
Ghostly lips cry out, "Leave us alone! Why call 
us back to a world where we lost all, and in quit- 
ting which we risked all? Disturb us not to gratify 
the cold curiosity of unfeeling strangers. We have 
passed on beyond human jurisdiction to the realities 
we dared to meet. Give us the i)ity and courtesy 
of your silence, O living brother, who didst escape 
the wreck ! " The appeal is not without effect, and 
if I lift the shroud that covers the faces of these 
dead self-destroyed, it will be tenderly, pityingly. 
These simple Sketches of real California-life would 
be imperfect if this characteristic feature were en- 
tirely omitted ; for California was (and is yet ) the 
land of suicides. In a single year there were one hun- 
(120) 



Suicide in California. 121 

dred aud six in San Francisco alone. The whole 
number of suicides in the State would, if the horror 
of each case could be even imperfectly imagined, 
appal even the dryest statistician of crime. The 
causes for this prevalence of self-destruction are 
to be sought in the peculiar conditions of the 
country, and the habits of the people. California, 
with all its beauty, grandeur, and riches, has been 
to the many who have gone thither a land of great 
expectations, but small results. This was specially 
the case in the earlier period of its history, after 
the discovery of gold and its settlement by "Amer- 
icans," as we call ourselves, par excellence. Hurled 
from the topmost height of extravagant hope to 
the lowest deep of disappointment, the shock is 
too great for reaction ; the rope, razor, bullet, or 
deadly drug, finishes the tragedy. Materialistic 
infidelity in California is the avowed belief of 
multitudes, and its subtle poison infects the minds 
and unconsciously the actions of thousands who 
recoil from the dark abyss that yawns at the feet 
of its adherents with its fascination of horror. 
Under some circumstances, suicide becomes logical 
to a man who has neither hope nor dread of a 
hereafter. Sins against the body, and especially 
the nervous system, were prevalent; and days of 
pain, sleepless nights, and weakened wills, were the 
precursors of the tragedy that promised change, 



122 Califobnia Sketches. 

if not rest. The devil gets men inside a fiery cir- 
cle, made by their own sin and folly, from which 
there seems to be no escape but by death, and they 
^vill unbar its awful door with their own trembling 
hands. There is another door of escape for the 
worst and most wretched, and it is opened to the 
penitent by the hand that was nailed to the rugged 
cross. These crises do come, when the next step 
must be death or life — penitence or perdition. Do 
sane men and women ever commit suicide? Yes 
— and, No. Yes, in the sense that they sometimes 
do it with even pulse and steady nerves. No, in 
the sense that there cannot be perfect soundness in 
the brain and heart of one who violates a primal 
instinct of human nature. Each case has its own 
peculiar features, and must be left to the all-seeing 
and all-pitying Father. Suicide, where it is not 
the greatest of crimes, is the greatest of misfort- 
unes. The righteous Judge will classify its vic- 
tims. 

A noted case in San Francisco was that of a 
French Catholic priest. He was young, brilliant, 
and popular — beloved by his flock, and admired 
by a large circle outside. He had taken the sol- 
emn vows of his order in all sincerity of purpose, 
and was distinguished as well for his zeal in his 
pastoral work as for his genius. But temptation 
met him, and he fell. It came in the shape in 



Suicide in California. 123 

Avhich it assailed the young Hebrew in Potiphar's 
house, and in which it overcame the poet-king of 
Israel. He was seized with horror and remorse, 
though he had no accuser save that voice within, 
which cannot be hushed while the soul lives. He 
ceased to perform the sacred functions of his office, 
making some plausible pretext to his superiors, 
not daring to add sacrilege to mortal sin. Shut- 
ting himself in his chamber, he brooded over his 
crime ; or, no longer able to endure the agony he 
felt, he would rush forth, and walk for hours over 
the sand-dunes, or along the sea-beach. But no 
answer of peace followed his prayers, and the 
voices of nature soothed him not. He thought 
his sin unpardonable — at least, he would not par- 
don himself. He was found one morning lying 
dead in his bed in a pool of blood. He had sev- 
ered the jugular-vein with a razor, which was still 
clutched in his stiffened fingers. His handsome 
and classic face bore no trace of pain. A sealed 
letter, lying on the table, contained his confession 
and his fiirewell. 

Among the lawyers in one of the largest mining 
towns of California was H. B . He was a na- 
tive of Virginia, and an ahminus of its noble Univer- 
sity. He was a scholar, a fine lawyer, handsome 
and manly in person and bearing, and had the gift 
of popularity. Though the youngest lawyer iu the 



124 California Sketches. 

town, he took a front place at the bar at once. 
Over the heads of several older asj)irants, he was 
elected county judge. There was no ebb in the 
tide of his general popularity, and he had quali- 
ties that won the warmest regard of his inner cir- 
cle of special friends. But in this case, as in 
many others, success had its danger. Hard drink- 
ing was the rule in those days. Horace B 

had been one of the rare exceptions. There was 
a reason for this extra prudence. He had that pe- 
culiar susceptibility to alcoholic excitement which 
has been the ruin of so many gifted and noble 
men. He knew his weakness, and it is strange 
that he did not continue to guard against the dan- 
ger that he so well understood. Strange ? No ; this 
infatuation is so common in every-day life that we 
cannot call it strange. There is some sort of fatal 
fascination that draws men with their eyes wide 
open into the very jaws of this hell of strong 
drink. The most brilliant physician in San Fran- 
cisco, in the prime of his magnificent young 
manhood, died of deUrlum tremens^ the victim of a 
self-inflicted disease, whose horrors no one knew or 
could picture so well as himself. Who says man 
is not a fallen, broken creature, and that there is 
not a devil at hand to tempt him ? This devil, 
under the guise of sociability, false pride, or moral 
cowardice, tempted Horace B , and he yielded. 



Suicide in Califobnia. 125 

Like tinder touched by flame, he blazed into 
drunkenness, and again and again the proud-spir- 
ited, manly, and cultured young lawyer and jurist 
was seen staggering along the streets, maudlin or 
mad wdth alcohol. When he had slept off his 
madness, his humiliation was intense, and he 
walked the streets wdth pallid face and downcast 
eyes. The coarser-grained men with whom he was 
thrown in contact had no concejDtion of the mental 
tortures he suffered, aiid their rude jests stung him 
to the quick. He despised himself as a weakling 
and a coward, but he did not get more than a 
transient victory over his enemy. The spark had 
struck a sensitive organization, and the fire of hell, 
smothered for the time, would blaze out again. 
He was fast becoming a -common drunkard, the 
accursed appetite growing stronger, and his will 
weakening in accordance with that terrible law by 
wdiich man's physical and moral nature visits ret- 
ribution on all who cross its path. During a term 
of the court over which he presided, he was taken 
home one night drunk. A pistol-shot was heard 
by persons in the vicinity some time before day- 
break ; but pistol-shots, at all hours of the night, 
were then too common to excite special attention. 

Horace B was found next morning lying on 

the floor with a bullet through his head. Many a 
stout, heavy-bearded man had wet eyes when the 



126 Califobnia Sketches. 

body of the ill-fated and brilliant young Virginian 
was let down into the grave, which had been dug 
for him on the hill overlooking the town from the 
south-east. 

In the same town there was a portrait-painter, a 
quiet, pleasant fellow, with a good face and easy, 
gentlemanly ways. As an artist, he was not without 
merit, but his gift fell short of genius. He fell in 
love with a charming girl, the eldest daughter of a 
leading citizen. She could not return his passion. 
The enamored artist still loved, and hoped against 
hope, lingering near her like a moth around a 
candle. There was another and more favored 
suitor in the case, and the rejected lover had all 
his hopes killed at one blow by her marriage to 
his rival. He felt that without her life was not 
worth living. He resolved to kill himself, and 
swallowed the contents of a two-ounce bottle of 
laudanum. After he had done the rash deed, a 
reaction took place. He told what he had done, 
and a physician was sent for. Before the doctor's 
arrival, the deadly drug asserted its power, and this 
repentant suicide began to show signs of going into 
a sleep from which it was certain he would never 
awake. 

"My God! What have I done?" he exclaimed 
in horror. " Do your best, boys, to keep me from 
going to sleep before the doctor gets here." 



Suicide in California. 127 

The doctor came quickly, and by the prompt 
and very vigorous use of the stomach-pump he was 
saved. I was sent for, and found the would-be 
suicide looking very weak, sick, silly, and sheepish. 
He got well, and went on making pictures ; but the 
picture of the fair, sweet girl, for love of whom he 
came so near dying, never faded from his mind. 
His face always wore a sad look, and he lived the 
life of a recluse, but he never attempted suicide 
again — he had had enough of that. 

" It always makes me shudder to look at that 
place," said a lady, as we passed an elegant cottage 
on the western side of Russian Hill, San Fran- 
cisco. 

"Why so? The place to me looks specially 
cheerful and attractive, with its graceful slope, 
its shrubbery, flowers, and thick greensward." 

" Yes, it is a lovely place, but it has a history 
that it shocks me to think of. Do you see that tall 
pumping-apparatus, with water-tank on top, in the 
rear of the house?" 

"Yes; what of it?" 

"A woman hanged herself there a year ago. 
The family consisted of the husband and wife, and 
two bright, beautiful children. He was thrifty and 
prosperous, she was an excellent housekeeper, and 
the children were healthy and well-behaved. In 
appearance a happier family could not be found 



128 California Sketches, 

on the hill. One day Mr. P came home at 

the usual hour, and, missing the wife's customary 
greeting, he asked the children where she was. 
The children had not seen their mother for two or 
three hours, and looked startled when they found 
she was missing. Messengers were sent to the 
nearest neighbors to make inquiries, but no one 

had seen her. Mr. P 's face began to wear a 

troubled look as he walked the floor, from time to 
time going to the door and casting anxious glances 
about the premises. 

About dnsk a sudden shriek was heard, issuing 
from the water-tank in the yard, and the Irish 
servant-girl came rushing from it, with eyes dis- 
tended and face pale with terror. 

"Holy Mother of God! It's the Missus that's 
hanged herself! " 

The alarm spread, and soon a crowd, curious 
and sympathetic, had collected. They found the 
poor lady suspended by the neck from a beam at 
the head of the staircase leading to the top of the 
inclosure. She w^as quite dead, and a horrible 
sight to see. At the inquest no facts were devel- 
oped throwing any light on the tragedy. There 
had been no cloud in the sky portending the light- 
ning-stroke that laid the happy little home in 
ruins. The husband testified that she was as 
bright and happy the morning of the suicide as he 



Suicide in California. 129 

liad ever seen her, and had j^arted with him at the 
door with the usual kiss. Every thing about the 
house that day bore the marks of hel- deft and 
skillful touch. The two children were dressed 
with accustomed neatness and good taste. Afid 
yet the bolt was in the cloud, and it fell before the 
sun had set! What was the mystery? Ever 
afterward I felt something of the feeling expressed 
by my lady friend when, in passing, I looked upon 
the structure which had been the scene of this 
singular tragedy. 

One of the most energetic business men living 
in one of the foot-hill towns, on the northern edge 
of the Sacramento Valley, had a charming wife, 
whom he loved with a deep and tender devotion. 
As in all true love-matches, the passion of youth 
had ripened into a yet stronger and purer love 
with the lapse of years and participation in the 
joys and sorrows of wedded life. Their union 
had been blessed with five children, all intelligent, 
sweet, and full of promise. It w^as a very affec- 
tionate and happy household. Both parents pos- 
sessed considerable literary taste and culture, and 
the best books and current magazine literature 
were read, discussed, and enjoyed in that quiet 
and elegant home amid the roses and evergreens. 
It was a little paradise in the hills, where Love, 
the home-angel, brightened every room and blessed 
9 



130 California iS ketches. 

every heart. But trouble came in the shape of 
business reverses, anil the worried look and wake- 
ful nights 'of the husband told how heavy were the 
blows that had fallen upon this hard and willing 
worker. The course of ruin in California was 
fearfully rapid in those days. When a man's 
financial supports began to give way, they went 
with a crash. The movement downw^ard was with 
a rush that gave no time for putting on the brakes. 
You were at the bottom, a wreck, almost before 
you knew it. So it was in this case. Every thing 
was swept away, a mountain of unpaid debts was 
piled up, credit was gone, clamor of creditoi*s deaf- 
ened him, and the gaunt wolf of actual w^ant 
looked in through the door of the cottage upon 
the dear wife and little ones. Another shadow, 
and a yet darker one, settled upon them. The 
unhappy man had been tampering with the delu- 
sion of spiritualism, and his wife had been drawn 
with him into a partial belief in its vagaries. In 
their troubles they sought the aid of the "familiar 
si)irits" that peeped and nuittered through speak- 
ing, writing, and rapping mediums. This kept 
them in a state of morbid excitement that increased 
from day to day until they were wrought up to a 
tension that verged on insanity. The lying spirits, 
or the frenzy of his own heated brain, turned his 
thought to death as the only escape from want. 



Suicide in California. 131 

" I see our way out of these troubles, wife," he 
said one night, as they sat hand in hand in the bed- 
chamber, where the children were lying asleep. 
"We will all die together! This has been re- 
vealed to me as the solution of all our difficulties. 
Yes, we will enter the beautiful spirit -world to- 
gether ! This is freedom ! It is only getting out of 
prison. Bright spirits beckon and call us. I am 
ready." 

There was a gleam of madness in his eyes, and, 
as he took a pistol from a bureau-drawer, an an- 
swering gleam flashed forth from the eyes of the 
wife, as she said : 

" Yes, love, we will all go together. I too am 
ready." 

The sleeping children were breathing sweetly, 
unmindful of the horror that the devil was hatch- 
ing. 

"The children first, then you, and then me," 
he said, his eye kindling with increasing excite- 
ment. 

He penciled a short note addressed to one of his 
old friends, asking him to attend to the burial of 
the bodies, then they kissed each of the sleeping 
children, and then — but let the curtain fall on the 
scene that followed. The seven were found next 
day lying dead, a bullet through the brain of each, 
the murderer, by the side of the wife, still holding 



132 



Califofxia Sketches. 



the weapon of death in his hand, its muzzle against 
his right temple. 

Other pictures of real life and death crowd up- 
on my mind, among them noble forms and faces 
that were near and dear to me ; but again I hear 
the appealing voices. The j^age before me is wet 
with tears — I cannot see to write. 




FATHEK FISHEK. 



HE came to California in 1855. The Pacific 
Conference was in session at Sacramento. 
It Avas announced tiiat the. new preacher from 
Texas would preach at night. The boat was de- 
tained in some way, and he just had time to reach 
the church, where a large and expectant congrega- 
tion were in waiting. Below medium height, plain- 
ly dressed, and with a sort of peculiar shuffling 
movement as he wentTlown the aisle, he attracted 
no special notice except for the profoundly rever- 
ential manner that nev^er left him anywhere. But 
the moment he faced his audience and spoke, it 
was evident to them that a man of mark stood be- 
fore them. They were magnetized at once, and 
every eye was fixed upon the strong yet benignant 
face, the capacious blue eyes, the ample forehead, 
and massive head, bald on top, Avith silver locks 
on either side. His tones in reading the Scripture 
and the hymns were unspeakably solemn and very 

(133) 



134: Califobnia Sketches. 

musical. The blazing fervor of the prayer that 
followed was absolutely startling to some of the 
preachers, who had cooled down under the depress- 
ing influence of the moral atmosphere of the coun- 
try. It almost seemed as if we could hear the 
rush of the pentecostal wind, and see the tongues 
of flame. The very house seemed to be rocking 
on its foundations. By the time the prayer had 
ended, all were in a glow, and ready for the ser- 
mon. The text I do not now call to mind, but the 
impression made by the sermon remains. I had 
seen and heard preachers Avho glowed in the pul- 
pit — this man burned. His words poured forth in 
a molten flood, his face shone like a furnace heat- 
ed from within, his large blue eyes flashed with 
the lightning of impassioned sentiment, and anon 
swam in pathetic appeal that no heart could resist. 
Body, brain, and spirit, rfll seemed to feel the 
mighty afflatus. His very frame seemed to ex- 
pand, and the little man who had gone into the 
pulpit with shuffling step and downcast eyes was 
transfigured before us. When, with radiant face, 
upturned eyes, an upward sweep of his arm, and 
trumpet-voice, he shouted, " Halleluiah to God ! " the 
tide of emotion broke over all barriers, the people 
rose to their feet, and the church reechoed with 
their responsive halleluiahs. The new preacher 
from Texas that night gave some Californians a 



Father Fishee. 135 

new idea of evangelical eloquence, and took his 
place as a burning and a shining light among the 
ministers of God on the Pacific Coast. 

"He is the man we want for San Francisco!" 
exclaimed the impulsive B. T. Crouch, who had 
kindled into a generous enthusiasm under that 
marvelous discourse. 

He was sent to San Francisco. He was one of 
a company of preachers who have successively had 
charge of the Southern Methodist Church in that 
wondrous city inside the Golden Gate — Boring, 
Evans, Fisher, Fitzgerald, Gober, Brown, Bailey, 
Wood, Miller, Ball, Hoss, Chamberlin, Mahon, 
Tuggle, Simmons, Henderson. There was an al- 
most unlimited diversity of temperament, culture, 
and gifts among these men ; but they all had a sim- 
ilar experience in this, that San Francisco gave 
them new revelations of human nature and of 
themselves. Some went away crippled and scarred, 
some sad, some broken ; but perhaps in the Great 
Day it may be found that for each and all there 
was a hidden blessing in the heart-throes of a serv- 
ice that seemed to demand that they should sow 
in bitter tears, and know no joyful reaping thi^; 
side of the grave. O my brothers, who have felt 
the fires of that furnace heated seven times hotter 
than usual, shall we not in the resting-place beyond 
the river realize that these fires burned out of us 



136 California Sketches. 

the dross that we did not know was in our souls? 
The bird that comes out of the tempest with bro- 
ken wing may henceforth take a lowlier flight, but 
w'ill be safer because it ventures no more into the 
region of storms. 

Fisher did not succeed in San Francisco, be- 
cause he could not get a hearing. A little hand- 
ful would meet him on Sunday mornings in one of 
the upper-rooms of the old City Hall, and listen 
to sermons that sent them away in a religious glow, 
but he had no leverage for getting at the masses. 
He was no adept in the methods by which the 
modern sensational preacher compels the attention 
of the novelty -loving crowds in our cities. An 
evangelist in every fiber of his being, he chafed 
under the limitations of his charge in San Fran- 
cisco, and from time to time he would make a dash 
into the country, where, at camp-meetings and on 
other special occasions, he preached the gospel with 
a power that broke many a sinner's heart, and with 
a persuasiveness that brought many a wanderer 
back to the Good Shepherd's fold. His bodily en- 
ergy, like his religious zeal, was unflagging. It 
seemed little less than a miracle that he could, day 
after day, make such vast expenditure of nervous 
energy without exhaustion. He put all his strength 
into every sermon and exhortation, whether ad- 
dressed to admiring and weeping thousands at a 



Father Fisher. 137 

great camp-meeting, or to a dozen or less "stand- 
bys" at the Saturday-morning service of a quar- 
terly-meeting. 

He had his trials and crosses. Those who knew 
him intimately learned to expect his mightiest pul- 
pit efforts when the shadow on his face and the 
unconscious sigh showed that he was passing 
through the waters and crying to God out of the 
depths. In such experiences, the strong man is 
revealed and gathers new strength; the weak one 
goes under. But his strength was more than mere 
natural force of will, it was the strength of a 
mighty faith in God — that unseen force by which 
the saints work righteousness, subdue kingdoms, 
escape the violence of fire, and stop the mouths of 
lions. 

As a flame of fire, Fisher itinerated all over Cal- 
ifornia and Oregon, kindling a blaze of revival in 
almost every place he touched. He was mighty in 
the Scriptures, and seemed to know the Book by 
heart. His was no rose-water theology. He be- 
lieved in a hell, and pictured it in Bible language 
with a vividness and awfulness that thrilled the 
stoutest sinner's heart; he believed in heaven, and 
spoke of it in such a way that it seemed that with 
him faith had already changed to sight. The gates 
of pearl, the crystal river, the shining ranks of the 
Avhite-robed throngs, their songs swelling as the 



138 Califobnia Sketches. 

soiiiul of* many waters, the holy love and rapture 
of the ghn-ified hosts of the redeemed, were made 
to pass in panoramic procession before the listen- 
ing multitudes, until the heaven he pictured seemed 
to be a present reality. He lived in the atmos- 
phere of the supernatural ; the spirit-world was to 
him most real. 

"I have been out of the body," he said to me 
one day. The words were spoken softly, and his 
countenance, always grave in its aspect, deepened 
in its solemnity of expression as he spoke. 

"How was that?" I inquired. 

"It was in Texas. I was returning from a quar- 
terly-meeting where I had preached one Sunday 
morning with great liberty and with unusual ef- 
fect. The horses attached to my vehicle became 
frightened, and ran away. They were wholly be- 
yond control, plunging down the road at a fearful 
speed, when, by a slight turn to one side, the wheel 
struck a large log. There was a concussion, and 
then a blank. The next thing I knew I was float- 
ing in the air above the road. I saw every thing 
as plainly as I see your face at this moment. There 
lay my body in the road, there lay the log, and 
tliere were the trees, the fence, the fields, and every 
thing, perfectly natural. My motion, which had 
been upward, was arrested, and as, poised in the 
air, I looked at my body lying there in the road 



Father Fishee. 139 

so still, I felt a strong desire to go back to it, and 
found myself sinking toward it. The next thing 
I knew I was lying in the road where I had been 
thrown out, with a number of friends about me, 
some holding up my head, others chafing my hands, 
or looking on with pity or alarm. Yes, I was out 
of the body for a little, and I know there is a 
spirit-world." 

His voice had sunk into a sort of whisper, and 
the tears were in his eyes. I was strangely thrilled. 
Both of us were silent for a time, as if we .heard 
the echoes of voices, and saw the beckon ings of 
shadowy hands from that Other World which 
sometimes seems so far away, and yet is so near to 
each one of us. 

Surely yon heaven, wliere angels see God's face, 

Is not so distant as we deem 
From this low earth. 'Tis but a little space, 
'Tis but a veil the winds might blow aside; 
Yes, this all that us of earth divide 
From the bright dwellings of the glorified, 
The land of which I dream. 

But it was no dream to this man of mighty faith, 
the windows of whose soul opened at all times 
Godward. To him immortality was a demon- 
strated fact, an experience. He had been out of 
the body. 

Intensity was his dominating quality. He wrote 



140 California Sketches. 

verses, and whatever they may have lacked of the 
subtle element that marks poetical genius, they 
were full of his ardent personality and devotional 
abandon. He compounded medicines whose vir- 
tues, backed by his own unwavering faith, wrought 
wondrous cures. On several occasions he accepted 
challenge to polemic battle, and his opponents 
found in him a fearless warrior, whose onset was 
next to irresistible. In these discussions it was 
no uncommon thing for his arguments to close with 
such bursts of spiritual power that the doctrinal 
duel would end in a great religious excitement, 
bearing disputants and hearers away on mighty 
tides of feeling that none could resist. 

I saw in the Texas Chri-^tlan Advocate an inci- 
dent, related by Dr. F. A. Mood, that gives a good 
idea of what Fisher's eloquence was when in full 
tide : 

"About ten years ago," says Dr. M., " when the 
train from Houston, on the Central Railroad, on 
one occasion reached Hempstead, it was perempto- 
rily brought to a halt. There Avas a strike among 
the employes of the road, on what was significantly 
called by the strikers 'The Death-warrant.' The 
road, it seems, had required all of their employes to 
sign a paper renouncing all claims to moneyed 
reparation in case of their bodily injury while in 
the service of the road. The excitement incident 



Father Fisuee. 141 

to a strike was at its height at Hempstead when 
our train reached there. The tracks were blocked 
with trains that had been stopped as they arrived 
from the different branches of the road, and the 
employes were gathered about in groups, discussing 
the situation — the passengers peering around with 
hopeless curiosity. When our train stopped, the 
conductor told us that we would have to lie over 
all night, and many of the passengers left to find 
accommodations in the hotels of the town. It was 
now night, when a man came into the car and ex- 
claimed, 'The strikers are tarring and feathering 
a poor wretch out here, who has taken sides with 
the road — come out and see it!' Nearly every one 
in the car hastened out. I had risen, when a gen- 
tleman behind me gently pulled my coat, and said 
to me, 'Sit down a moment.' He went on to say: 
'I judge, sir, you are a clergyman; and I advise 
you to remain here. You may be put to much in- 
convenience by having to appear as a witness; in 
a mob of that sort, too, there is no telling what 
may follow.' I thanked him, and resumed my 
seat. He then asked me to what denomination I 
belonged, and upon my telling him I Avas a Meth- 
odist preacher, he asked eagerly and promptly if I 
had ever met a Methodist preacher in Texas by 
the name of Fisher, describing accurately the ap- 
pearance of our glorified lirother. Upon my tell- 



142 Caljfoexia Sketches, 

ing him I knew liiin well, lie proceeded to give the 
following incident. I give it as nearly as I can in 
his own words. Said he: 

*''I am a Californian, have practiced law for 
years in that State, and, at the time I allude to, was 
district judge. I was holding court at [I can- 
not now recall the name of the town he mentioned], 
and on Saturday was told that a Methodist camp- 
meeting was being held a few miles from town. I 
determined to visit it, and reached the place of 
meeting in good time to hear the great preacher 
of the occasion — Father Fisher. The meeting was 
held in a river caTion. The rocks towered hun- 
dreds of feet on either side, rising over like an 
arch. Through the ample space over which the 
rocks hung the river flowed, furnishing abundance 
of cool water, while a pleasant breeze fanned a 
shaded spot. A great multitude had assembled — 
Imndreds of very hard cases, who had gathered 
there, like myself, for the mere novelty of the 
thing. I am not a religious man — never have 
been thrown under religious influences. I respect 
religion, and respect its teachers, but have been 
very little in contact with religious things. At 
the appointed time, the preacher rose. He was 
small, with white hair combed back from his fore- 
head, and he wore a venerable beard. I do not 
know nuich about the Bible, and I cannot quote 



Father Fisher. 14S 

from his text, but lie preached on the Judgment. 
I tell you, sir, I have heard eloquence at the bar 
and on the hustings, but I never heard such elo- 
quence as that old preacher gave us that day. At 
the last, when he described the multitudes calling 
on the rocks and mountains to fall on them, I in- 
stinctively looked up to the arching rocks above 
me. Will you believe it, sir? — as I looked up, to 
my horror I saw the walls of the carwn swaying 
as if they were coming together! Just then the 
preacher called on all that needed mercy to kneel 
down. I recollect he said something like this: 
"'Every knee shall bow, and every tongue shall 
confess;' and you might as well do it now as then." 
The whole multitude fell on their knees — every 
one of them. Although I had never done so be- 
fore, I confess to you, sir, I got down on my knees. 
I did not want to be buried right then and there 
by those rocks that seemed to be swaying to de- 
stroy me. The old man prayed for us ; it was a 
wonderful prayer ! I want to see him once more ; 
where will I be likely to find him?* 

"When he had closed his narrative, I said to 
him: 'Judge, I hope you have bowed frequently 
since that day.' 'Alas ! no, sir,' he replied ; ' not 
much ; but depend upon it. Father Fisher is a 
wonderful orator — he made me think that day that 
the walls of the canon were falling.'" 



144 



California Sketches. 



He went back to Texas, the scene of his early 
labors and triumphs, to die. His evening sky was 
not cloudless — he suffered much — but his sunset 
was calm and bright ; his waking in the Morning 
Land was glorious. If it was at that short period 
of silence spoken of in the Apocalypse, we may 
be sure it was broken when Fisher went in. 




JACK WHITE. 



THE only tliiug white about hira was his name. 
He was a Piute Indian, and Piutes are nei- 
ther white nor pretty. There is only one being in 
human shape uglier than a Piute "buck" — and 
that is a Piute squaw. One I saw at the Sink of 
the Humboldt haunts me yet. Her hideous face, 
begrimed with dirt and smeared with yellow paint, 
bleared and leering eyes, and horrid long, flapping 
breasts — ugh ! it was a sight to make one feel sick. 
A degraded woman is the saddest spectacle on 
earth. Shakespeare knew what he was doing when 
he made the witches in Macbeth of the feminine 
gender. But as you look at them you almost for- 
get that these Piute hags are women — they seem a 
cross between brute and devil. The unity of the 
human race is a fact which I accept; but some of 
our brothers and sisters are far gone from original 
loveliness. If Eve could see these Piute women, 
she would not be in a hurry to claim them as her 
10 (Ho) 



146 California Sketches. 

daughters; and Adam would feel like disowning 
some of his sons. As it appears to me, however, 
these repulsive savages furnish an argument in 
support of two fundamental facts of Christianity. 
One fact is, God did indeed make of one blood all 
the nations of the earth; the other is the fact of 
the fall and depravity of the human race. This 
unspeakable ugliness of these Indians is owing to 
their evil living. Dirty as they are, the little In- 
dian children are not at all repulsive in expression. 
A boy of ten years, who stood half-naked, shiver- 
ing in the wind, with his bow and arrows, had 
well-shaped features and a pleasant expression of 
countenance, with just a little of the look of ani- 
mal cunning that belongs to all wild tribes. The 
ugliness grows on these Indians fearfully fast when 
it sets in. The brutalities of the lives they lead 
stamp themselves on their faces; and no other ani- 
mal on earth equals in ugliness the animal called 
man, when he is nothing but an animal. 

There was a mystery about Jack White's early 
life. He was born in the sage-brush desert beyond 
the Sierras, and, like all Indian babies, doubtless 
had a hard time at the outset. A Christian's pig 
or puppy is as well cared for as a Piute papoose. 
Jack was found in a deserted Indian camp in the 
mountains. He had l)een left to die, and was 
taken charge of l)y the kind - hearted John M. 



Jack White, 147 

White, ^Yllo was then digging for gold in the North- 
ern mines. He and his good Christian wife had 
mercy on the little Indian boy that looked up at 
them so pitifully with his wondering black eyes. 
At first he had the frightened and bewildered look 
of a captured wild creature, but he soon began to be 
more at ease. He acquired the English language 
slowly, and never did lose the peculiar accent of 
his tribe. The miners called him Jack White, not 
knowing any other name for him. 

Moving to the beautiful San Ramon Valley, not 
far from the Bay of San Francisco, the Whites 
took Jack with them. They taught him the lead- 
ing doctrines and facts of the Bible, and made him 
useful in domestic service. He grew and thrived. 
Broad-shouldered, muscular, and straight as an 
arrow, Jack was admired for his strength and agil- 
ity by the white boys with whom he was brought 
into contact. Though not quarrelsome, he had a 
steady courage that, backed by his great strength, 
inspired resj)ect and insured good treatment from 
them. Growing up amid these influences, his 
features were softened into a civilized expression, 
and his tawny face was not unpleasing. The heavy 
under-jaw and square forehead gave him an ap- 
pearance of hardness which was greatly relieved 
by the honest look out of his eyes, and the smile 
which now and then would slowly creep over his 



148 California Sketches. 

face, like the movement of the shadow of a thin 
cloud on a calm day in summer. An Indian smiles 
deliberately, and in a dignified way — at least Jack 
did. 

I first knew Jack at Santa Rosa, of which beau- 
tiful town his patron, Mr. White, was then the 
marshal. Jack came to my Sunday-school, and 
was taken into a class of about twenty boys taught 
by myself. They were the noisy element of the 
school, ranging from ten to fifteen years of age — 
too large to show the docility of the little lads, but 
not old enough to have attained the self-command 
and self-respect that come later in life. Though he 
was much older than any of them, and heavier than 
his' teacher, this class suited Jack. The white boys 
all liked him, and he liked me. We had grand 
times with that class. The only way to keep them 
in order was to keep them very busy. The plan 
of having them answer in concert was adopted with 
decided results. It kept them awake — and the 
whole school with them, for California boys have 
strong lungs. Twenty boys speaking all at once, 
with eager excitement and flashing eyes, waked 
the drowsiest drone in the room. A gentle hint 
was given now and then to take a little lower key. 
In these lessons, Jack's deep guttural tones came 
in with marked eflTect, and it was delightful to see 
how he enjoyed it all. And the singing made his 



Jack White. 149 

swarthy features glow with pleasure, though he 
rarely joined in it, having some misgiving as to 
the melody of his voice. 

The truths of the gospel took strong hold of 
Jack's mind, and his inquiries indicated a deep in- 
terest in the matter of religion. I was therefore 
not surprised when, during a protracted-meeting 
in the town. Jack became one of the converts ; but 
there was surprise and delight among the brethren 
at the class-meeting when Jack rose in his place 
and told what great things the Lord had done for 
him, dwelling with special emphasis on the words, 
"I am happy, because I know Jesus takes my sins 
away — I know he takes my sins away." His voice 
melted into softness, and a tear trickled down his 
cheek as he spoke; and when Dan Duncan, the 
leader, crossed over the room and grasped his hand 
in a burst of joy, there was a glad chorus of re- 
joicing Methodists over Jack White, the Piute 
convert. 

Jack never missed a service at the church, and 
in the social-meetings he never failed to tell the 
story of his new-born joy and hope, and always 
with thrilling effect, as he repeated with trembling 
voice, "I am happy, because I know Jesus takes 
my sins away." Sin w^as a reality with Jack, and 
the pardon of sin the most wonderful of all facts. 
He never tired of telling it; it opened a new world 



150 California Sketches, 

to him, a world of light and joy. Jack White in 
the class-meeting or prayer-meeting, with beaming 
face, and moistened eyes, and softened voice, tell- 
ing of the love of Jesus, seemed almost of a differ- 
ent race from the wretched Piutes of the Sierras 
and sage-brush. 

Jack's baptism was a great event. It was by 
immersion, the first baptism of the kind I ever 
performed — and almost the last. Jack had been 
talked to on the subject by some zealous brethren 
of another "persuasion," who magnified that mode, 
and though he Avas willing to do as I advised in 
the matter, he w^as evidently a little inclined to the 
more spectacular w^ay of receiving the ordinance. 
Mrs. White suggested that it might save future 
trouble, and "spike a gun." So Jack, with four 
others, was taken down to Santa Rosa Creek, that 
went rippling and sparkling along the southern 
edge of the town, and duly baptized in the name of 
the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. 
A great crowd covered the bridge just below, and 
the banks of the stream ; and when Wesley Mock, 
the Asaph of Santa Rosa Methodism, struck up 

O happy day that fixed my choice 
On thee, my Saviour and my God, 

and the chorus — 

Happy day, hai)py day, when Jesus washed my «ins away. 



Jack White. 151 

was swelled by hundreds of voices, it was a glad 
moment for Jack White and all of us. Religiously 
it was a warm time; but the water was very cold, 
it being one of the chilliest days I ever felt in that 
genial climate. 

" You were rather awkward. Brother Fitzgerald, 
in immersing those persons," said my stalwart 
friend, Elder John McCorkle, of the " Christian " 
or Campbellite Church, who had critically but not 
unkindly w'atched the proceedings from the bridge. 
"If you will send for me the next time, I will do it 
for you," he added, pleasantly. 

I fear it was awkwardly done, for the water was 
very cold, and a shivering man cannot be very- 
graceful in his movements. I would have done 
better in a baptistery, with warm water and a rub- 
ber suit. But of all the persons I have welcomed 
into the Church during my ministry, the reception 
of no one has given me more joy than that of Jack 
White, the Piute Indian. 

Jack's heart yearned for his own people. He 
wanted to tell them of Jesus, who could take away 
their sins; and perhaps his Indian instinct made 
him long for the freedom of the hills. 

" I am going to my people," he said to me ; " I 
want to tell them of Jesus. You will pray for 
me?" he added, with a quiver in his voice and a 
heaving chest. 



152 



California Sketches. 



He went away, and I have never seen him since. 
Where he is now, I know not. I trust I may meet 
him on Mount Sion, with the harpers harping with 
their harps, and singing, as it were, a new song be- 
fore the throne. 

Postscript. — Since this Sketch was penciled, the 
Kev. C. Y. Rankin, in a note dated Santa Kosa, 
California, August o, 1880, says: "Mrs. White 
asked me to send you word of the peaceful death 
of Jack White (Indian). He died trusting in 
Jesus." 



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^^3^^^^ 'Pi ^/^ 


y^^^^m^^^ 


W^^ 


)yff/J 


^^^jw^i^'^lisfe 


i^'^^^^^SS 


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^^^^ 


^^s 


^^ 



THE EABBI. 



SEATED in his library, enveloped in a faded 
figured gown, a black velvet cap on his mass- 
ive head, there was an Oriental look about him 
that arrested your attention at once. Power and 
gentleness, child-like simplicity, and scholarliness, 
Avere curiously mingled in this man. His library 
was a reflex of its owner. In it were books that the 
great public libraries of the world could not match 
— black-letter folios that were almost as old as the 
printing art, illuminated volumes that were once 
the pride and joy of men who had been in their 
graves many generations, rabbinical lore, theology, 
magic, and great volumes of Hebrew literature 
that looked, when placed beside a modern book, 
like an old ducal palace along-side a gingerbread 
cottage of to-day. I d'" not think he ever felt at 
home amid the hurry and rush of San Francisco. 
He could not adjust himself to the people. He 
was devout, and they were intensely worldly. Ho 

(103) 



154 California Sketches. 

thundered this sentence from the teacher's desk in 
the synagogue one morning: "O ye Jews of San 
Francisco, you have so fully given yourselves up 
to material things that you are losing the very in- 
stinct of immortality. Your only idea of religion 
is to acquire the Hebrew language, and you don't 
know that!" His port and voice were like those 
of one of the old Hebrew prophets. Elijah him- 
self was not more fearless. Yet, how deep was his 
love for his race! Jeremiah was not more tender 
when he wept for the slain of the daughter of his 
peojile. His reproofs were resented, and he had a 
taste of persecution ; but the Jews of San Fran- 
cisco understood him at last. The j^oor and the 
little children knew him from the start. He lived 
mostly among his books, and in his school for poor 
children, whom he taught without charge. His 
habits were so simple and his bodily wants so few 
that it cost him but a trifle to live. When the 
synagogue frowned on him, he was as independent 
as Elijah at the brook Cherith. It is hard to 
starve a man to whom crackers and water are a 
royal feast. 

His belief in God and in the supernatural was 
startlingly vivid. The Voice that spoke from Si- 
nai was still audible to him, and the Arm that de- 
livered Israel he saw still stretched out over the 
nations. Tlic miracles of tlie Old Testament were 



The Babbl 155 

as real to him as the premiership of Disraeli, or 
the financieriug of the Rothschilds. There was, at 
the same time, a vein of rationalism that ran 
through his thought and speech. We were speak- 
ing one day on the subject of miracles, and, with 
his usual energy of manner, he said : 

"There was no need of any literal angel to shut 
the mouths of the lions to save Daniel ; the awful 
holiness of the proijhet was enough. There was so 
much of God in him that the savage creatures sub- 
mitted to him as they did to unsinning Adam. 
Man's dominion over nature was broken by sin, 
but in the golden age to come it will be restored. 
A man in full communion with God wields a di- 
vine power in every sphere that he touches." 

His face glowed as he spoke, and his voice was 
subdued into a solemnity of tone that told how 
his reverent and adoring soul Avas thrilled with 
this vision of the coming glory of redeemed hu- 
manity. 

He knew the New Testament by heart, as well 
as the Old. The sayings of Jesus were often on 
his lips. 

One day, in a musing, half-soliloquizing way, I 
heard him say: 

" It is wonderful, wonderful ! a Hebrew peasant 
from the hills of Galilee, without learning, noble 
birth, or power, subverts all the phih)Sophies of 



156 California Sketches. 

the world, and makes himself the central figure of 
all history. It is wonderful ! " 

He half whispered the Avords, and his eyes had 
the introspective look of a man who is thinking 
deeply. 

He came to see me at our cottage on Post street 
one morning before breakfast. In grading a street, 
a house in Avhich I had lived and had the ill luck 
to own^ on Pine street, had been undermined, and 
toppled over into the street below, falling on the 
slate-roof and breaking all to pieces. He came 
to tell me of it, and to extend his sympathy. 

"I thought I would come first, so you might get 
the bad news from a friend rather than a stranger. 
You have lost a house; but it is a small matter. 
Your little boy there might have put out his eye 
with a pair of scissors, or he might have swallowed 
a pin and lost his life. There are many things 
constantly taking place that are harder to bear 
than the loss of a house." 

Many other wise words did the Rabbi speak, and 
before he left I felt that a house was indeed a small 
thing to grieve over. 

He spoke with charming freedom and candor of 
all sorts of people. 

*'0f Christians, the Unitarians have the best 
heads, and the Methodists the best hearts. The 
Roman Catholics hold the masses, because they 



The Rabbi. 167 

give their peojole plenty of form. The masses will 
never receive truth in its simple essence"; they 
must have it in a way that will make it digestible 
and assimilable, just as their stomachs demand 
bread, and meats, and fruits, not their extracts or 
distilled essences, for daily food. As to Judaism, 
it is on the eve of great changes. What these 
changes will be I know not, except that I am sure 
the God of our fathers will fulfill his promise to 
Israel. This generation will probably see great 
things." 

" Do you mean the literal restoration of the 
Jews to Palestine ? " 

He looked at me with an intense gaze, and has- 
tened not to answer. At last he spoke slowly : 

"When the perturbed elements of religious 
thought crystallize into clearness and enduring 
forms, the chosen people will be one of the chief 
factors in reaching that final solution of the prob- 
lems which convulse this age." 

He was one of the speakers at the great Mortara 
indignation-meeting in San Francisco. The speech 
of the occasion w^as that of Colonel Baker, the 
orator who went to Oregon, and in a single cam- 
paign magnetized the Oregonians so completely by 
his splendid eloquence that, passing by all their 
old party leaders, they sent him to the United 
States Senate. No one who heard Baker's ])crora- 



158 Califobnia Sketches. 

tion that night will ever forget it. His dark eyes 
blazed,* his form dilated, and his voice was like a 
bugle in battle. 

"They tell us that the Jew is accursed of God. 
This has been the plea of the bloody tyrants and 
robbers that oppressed and plundered them during 
the long ages of their exile and agony. Bat the 
Almighty God executes his own judgments. Woe 
to him who presumes to wield his thunderbolts! 
They fall in blasting, consuming vengeance upon 
his own head. God deals with his chosen people 
in judgment; but he says to men, Touch them at 
your peril! They that spoil them shall be for a 
spoil; they that carried them away captive shall 
themselves go into captivity. The Assyrian smote 
the Jew, and where is the proud Assyrian Empire? 
E,ome ground them under her iron heel, and where 
is the empire of the Cajsars? Spain smote the 
Jew, and where is her glory? The desert sands 
cover the site of Babylon the Great. The power 
that hurled the hosts of Titus against the holy 
city Jerusalem was shivered to pieces. The ban- 
ners of Spain, that floated in triumph over half 
the world, and fluttered in the breezes of every 
sea, is now the emblem of a glory that is gone, 
and the ensign of a power that has waned. The 
Jews are in the hands of God. He has dealt wdth 
them in judgment, but they are still the children 



The Rabbi. 159 

of promise. The day of their long exile shall cikI, 
and they will return to Zion with songs and ever- 
lasting joy upon their heads!" 

The words were something like these, but who 
could picture Baker's oratory? As well try to 
paint a storm in the tropics. Real thunder and 
lightning cannot be put on canvas. 

The Rabbi made a speech, and it was the speech 
of a man who had come from his books and 
prayers. He made a tender appeal for the mother 
and father of the abducted Jewish boy, and ar- 
gued the question as calmly, and in as sweet a 
spirit, as if he had been talking over an abstract 
question in his study. The vast crowd looked 
upon that strange figure with a sort of pleased 
wonder, and the Rabbi seemed almost unconscious 
of their presence. He was as free from self-con- 
sciousness as a little child, and many a Gentile 
heart warmed that night to the simple-hearted sage 
who stood before them pleading for the rights of 
human nature. 

The old man was often very sad. In such moods 
he would come round to our cottage on Post street, 
and sit with us until late at night, unburdening 
his aching heart, and relaxing by degrees into a 
playfulness that was charming from its very awk- 
wardness. He would bring little picture-books for 
the chihlrcn, pat them on their heads, and praise 



160 California Sketches. 

them. They were always glad to see him, and 
would nestle round him lovingly. AVe all loved 
him, and felt glad in the thought that he left our 
little circle lighter at heart. He lived alone. 
Once, when I playfully spoke to him of matri- 
mony, he laughed quietly, and said: 

" No, no — my books and my poor school-chil- 
dren are enough for me." 

He died suddenly and alone. He had been out 
one windy night visiting the poor, came home sick, 
and before morning was in that world of spirits 
which was so real to his faith, and for which he 
longed. He left his little fortune of a few thou- 
sand dollars to the poor of his native village of 
Posen, in Poland. And thus passed from Califor- 
nia-life Dr. Julius Eckmau, the Rabbi. 



MY MINING SPECULATION. 



" T BELIEVE the Lord has jout rae in the way 

1. of making a competency for my old age," 
said the dear old Doctor, as he seated himself in 
the arm-chair reserved for him at the cottage at 
North Beach. 

"How?" Tasked. 

" I met a Texas man to-day, Avho told me of the 
discovery of an immensely rich silver mining dis- 
trict in Deep Spring Valley, Mono county, and 
he says he can get me in as one of the owners." 

I laughingly made some remark expressive of 
incredulity. The honest and benignant face of 
the old Doctor showed that he was a little nettled. 

" I have made full inquiry, and am sure this is 
no mere speculation. The stock will not be put 
upon the market, and will not be assessable. 
They propose to make me a trustee, and the own- 
ers, limited in number, will have entire control of 
the property. But I will not be hasty in the mat- 
11 / (161) 



162 California Sketches. 

ter. I Avill make it a subject of prayer for twen- 
ty-four hours, and then if there be no adverse in- 
dications I will go on with it/' 

The next day I met the broad- faced Texan, and 
was impressed by him as the old Doctor had been. 

It seemed a sure thing. An old prospector had 
been equipped and sent out by a few gentlemen, 
and he had found outcroppings of silver in a 
range of hills extending not less than three miles. 
Assays had been made of the ores, and they were 
found to be very rich. All the timber and water- 
power of Deep Spring Valley had been taken up 
for the company under the general and local pre- 
emption and mining laws. It was a big thing. 
The beauty of the whole arrangement was that no 
"mining sharps" were to be let in; we were to 
manage it ourselves, and reap all the profits. 

We went into it, the old Doctor and I, feeling 
deeply grateful to the broad-faced Texan, who had 
so kindly given us the chance. I was made a 
trustee, and began to have a decidedly business 
feeling as such. At the meetings of "the board," 
my opinions \vere frequently called for, and were 
given with great gravity. The money was paid 
for the shares I had taken, and the precious evi- 
dences of ownership were carefully put in a place 
of safety. A mill was built near the richest of 
the claims, and the assays were good. There were 



Mr Mining Speculation. 163 

delays, and more money was called for, and sent 
up. The assays were still good, and the reports 
from our superintendent were glowing. " The 
biggest thing in the history of California mining," 
he wrote; and when the secretary read his letter 
to the board, there was a happy expression on each 
face. 

At this point I began to be troubled. It 
seemed, from reasonable ciphering, that I should 
soon be a millionaire. It made me feel solemn 
and anxious. I lay awake at night, praying 
that I might not be spoiled by my good fortune. 
The scriptures that speak of the deceitfulness of 
riches were called to niind, and I rejoiced with 
trembling. Many beneficent enterprises were 
planned, principally in the line of endowing col- 
leges, and paying church-debts. (I had had an 
experience in this line.) There were further de- 
lays, and more money -jj^as called for. The ores 
were rebellious, and our " process " did not suit 
them. Fryborg and Deep Spring Valley were 
not the same. A new^ superintendent — one that 
understood rebellious ores — was employed at a 
higher salary. He reported that all was right, 
and that we might expect " big news " in a few 
days, as he proposed to crush about seventy tons 
of the best rock, "by a new^ and improved pro- 
cess." 



164 California Sketches. 

The board held frequent meetings, and in view 
of the nearness of great results did not hesitate to 
meet the requisitions made for further outlays of 
money. They resolved to pursue a prudent but 
vigorous policy in developing the vast property 
when the mill should be fairly in operation. 

All this time I felt an under-current of anxiety 
lest I might sustain spiritual loss by my sudden 
accession to great wealth, and continued to fortify 
myself with good resolutions. 

As a matter of special caution, I sent for a par- 
cel of the ore, and had a private assay made of it. 
The assay was good. 

The new superintendent notified us that on a 
certain date we might look for a report of the re- 
sult of the first great crushing and clean-up of the 
seventy tons of rock. The day came. On Kear- 
ny street I met one of the stockholders — a careful 
Presbyterian brother, who loved money. He had 
a solemn look, and was walking slowly, as if in deep 
thought. Lifting his eyes as we met, he saw me, 
and spoke: 

''It is lead!'' 

"What is lead?" 

"Our silver mine in Deep Spring Valley." 

Yes; from the seventy tons of rock we got 
eleven dollars in silver, and about fifty pounds of 
as good lead as was ever molded into bullets. 



31 Y Mining Speculation. 



165 



The board held a meeting the next evening. It 
was a solemn one. The fifty-pound bar of lead 
was placed in the midst, and was eyed reproach- 
fully. I resigned my trusteeship, and they saw 
me not again. That was my first and last mining 
speculation. It failed somehow — but the assays 
were all very good. 




MIKE EEESE. 



I HAD business with him, and went at a busi- 
ness hour. No introduction was needed, for 
he had been my landlord, and no tenant of his 
ever had reason to complain that he did not get a 
visit from him, in person or by proxy, at least once 
a month. He was a punctual man — as a collector 
of what was due him. Seeing that he was intently 
engaged, I paused and looked at him. A man of 
huge frame, with enormous hands and feet, mass- 
ive head, receding forehead, and heavy cerebral 
development, full sensual lips, large nose, and pe- 
culiar eyes that seemed at the same time to look 
through you and to shrink from your gaze — he was 
a man at whom a stranger would stop in the street 
to get a second gaze. There he sat at his desk, too 
much absorbed to notice my entrance. Before him 
lay a large pile of one-thousand- dollar United 
States Government bonds, and he was clipping off 
the coupons. That face! it was a study as he sat 
(ICG) 



Mike Beese. 167 

using tlie big pair of scissors. A hungry boy in 
the act of taking into his moutli a ripe cherry, a 
mother gazing down into the face of her pretty 
sleeping child, a lover looking into the eyes of his 
charmer, are but faint figures by which to express 
the intense pleasure he felt in his work. But there 
was also a feline element in his joy — his handling 
of those bonds was somewhat like a cat toying 
with its prey. When at length he raised his head, 
there was a fierce gleam in his eye and a flush 
in his face. I had come upon a devotee engaged 
in worship. This was Mike Reese, the miser 
and millionaire. Placing his huge left-hand 
on the pile of bonds, he grufily returned my salu- 
tation, 

"Good morning." 

He turned as he spoke, and cast a look of scru- 
tiny into my face which said plain enough that he 
wanted me to make known my business with him 
at once. 

I told him what was wanted. At the request 
of the official board of the Minna-street Church I 
had come to ask him to make a contribution to- 
ward the payment of its debt. 

"O yes; I was expecting you. They all come 
to me. Father Gallagher, of the Catholic Church, 
Dr. Wyatt, of the Episcopal Church, and all the 
others, have been here. I feel friendly to the 



168 California Sketches. 

Churches, and I treat all alike — it won't do for 
me to be partial — I don't give to any!" 

That last clause was an anticlimax, dashing my 
hopes rudely ; but I saw he meant it, and left. I 
never heard of his departing from the rule of strict 
impartiality he had laid down for himself. 

AVe met at times at a restaurant on Clay street. 
He was a hearty feeder, and it was amusing to see 
how skillfully in the choice of dishes and the thor- 
oughness with which he emptied them he could 
combine economy with plenty. On several of these 
occasions, when we chanced to sit at the same 
table, I proposed to pay for both of us, and he 
quickly assented, his hard, heavy features light- 
ing up with undisguised pleasure at the sugges- 
tion, as he shambled out of the room amid the 
smiles of the company present, most of whom 
knew him as a millionaire, and me as a Methodist 
preacher. 

He had one affair of the heart. Cupid played 
a prank on him that was tlic occasion of much 
merriment in the Ban Francisco ne\vs})apers, and 
of much grief to him. A widow was his enslaver 
and tormentor — the old story. She sued him for 
breach of promise of marriage. The trial made 
great fun for the lawyers, reporters, and the amused 
public generally; but it was no fun for him. He 
was mulcted for six thousand dollars and costs of 



Mike Reese. 160 

the suit. It was during the time I was renting 
one of his offices on Washington street. I called 
to see hin), wishing to have some repairs made. 
His clerk met me in the narrow hall, and there 
was a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he said : 

"You had better come another day — the old 
man has just paid that judgment in the breach of 
promise case, and he is in a bad way." 

Hearing our voices, he said, 

"Who is there? — come in." 

I went in, and found him sitting leaning on his 
desk, the picture of intense wretchedness. He was 
all unstrung, his jaw fallen, and a most pitiful 
face met mine as he looked uj) and said, in a bro- 
ken voice, 

"Come some other day — I can do no business 
to-day; I am very unwell." 

He was indeed sick — sick at heart. I felt sorry 
for him. Pain always excites my pity, no matter 
what mny be its cause. He was a miser, and the 
payment of those thousands of dollars was like 
tearing him asunder. He did not mind the jibes 
of the newspapers, but the loss of the money was 
almost killing. He had not set his heart on pop- 
ularity, but cash. 

He had another special trouble, but with a dif- 
ferent sort of ending. It was discovered by a 
neighbor of his that, by some mismeasurement of 



170 California Sketches. 

the surveyors, he (Reese) had built the wall of one 
of his immense business-houses on Front street six 
inches beyond his o^vn proper line, taking in just 
so much of that neighbor's lot. Not being on 
friendly terms with Reese, his neighbor made a 
peremptory demand for the removal of the wall, 
or the payment of a heavy price for the ground. 
Here was misery for the miser. He writhed in 
mental agony, and begged for easier terms, but in 
vain. His neighbor would not relent. The busi- 
ness men of the vicinity rather enjoyed the situa- 
tion, humorously watching the progress of the 
affair. It was a case of diamond cut diamond, 
both parties bearing the reputation of being hard 
men to deal with. A day was fixed for Reese to 
give a definite answer to his neighbor's demand, 
with notice that, in case of his non-compliance, suit 
against him would be begun at once. The day 
came, and with it a remarkable change in Reese's 
tone. He sent a short note to his enemy breath- 
ing profanity and defiance. 

"What is the matter?" mused the puzzled citi- 
zen; "Reese has made some discovery that makes 
him think he has the upper-hand, else he would 
not talk this way." 

And he sat and thought. The instinct of this 
class of men where money is involved is like a 
miracle. 



Mike Reese. 171 

"I have it!" he suddenly exclaimed; "Reese 
has the same hold on me that I have on him." 

Reese happened to be the owner of another lot 
adjoining that of his enemy, on the other side. It 
occurred to him that, as all these lots were sur- 
veyed at the same time by the same party, it 
was most likely that as his line had gone six inches 
too far on the one side, his enemy's had gone as 
much too far on the other. And so it was. He 
had quietly a survey made of the premises, and 
he chuckled with inward joy to find that he held 
this winning card in the unfriendly game. With 
grim politeness the neighbors exchanged deeds for 
the two half feet of ground, and their war ended. 
The moral of this incident is for him who hath wit 
enough to see it. 

For several seasons he came every morning to 
North Beach to take sea -baths. Sometimes he 
rode his well-know'n white horse, but oftener he 
walked. He bathed in the open sea, making, as 
one expressed it, twenty-five cents out of the Pa- 
cific Ocean, by avoiding the bath-house. Was this 
the charm that drew him forth so early ? It not 
seldom chanced that w'e walked down-toAvn together. 
At times he was quite communicative, speaking of 
himself in a way that was peculiar. It seems he 
had thoughts of marrying before his episode with 
the widow. 



172 Califobnia Sketches. 

"Do you think a young girl of twenty could 
love an old man like me?" he asked me one day, 
as we were walking along the street. 

I looked at his huge and ungainly bulk, and 
into his animal face, and made no direct answer. 
Love! Six millions of dollars is a great sum. 
Money may buy youth and beauty, but love does 
not come at its call. God's highest gifts are free ; 
only the second-rate things can be bought with 
money. Did this sordid old man yearn for pure 
human love amid his millions? Did such a dream 
cast a momentary glamour over a life spent in 
raking among the muck-heaps? If so, it passed 
away, for he never married. 

He understood his own case. He knew in what 
estimation he was held l)y the public, and did not 
conceal his scorn for its opinion. 

"My love of money is a disease. My saving 
and hoarding as I do is irrational, and I know it. 
It pains me to pay five cents for a street-car ride, or 
a quarter of a dollar for a dinner. My pleasure 
in accumulating property is morbid, but I have 
felt it from the time I was a foot-peddler in Char- 
lotte, Campbell, and Pittsylvania counties, in Vir- 
ginia, until now\ It is a sort of insanity, and it is 
incurable; but it is about as good a form of mad- 
ness as any, and all the world is mad in some 
fashion." 



M/KE Beese. 173 

This was the substance of what he said of him- 
self when in one of his moods of free speech, and 
it gave me a new idea of human nature — a man 
whose keen and penetrating brain could subject 
his own consciousness to a cool and correct analy- 
sis, seeing clearly the folly Avhich he could not re- 
sist. The autobiography of such a man might 
furnish a curious psychological study, and explain 
the formation and development in society of those 
moral monsters called misers. Nowhere in litera- 
ture has such a character been fully portrayed, 
though Shakespeare and George Eliot have given 
vivid touches of some of its features. 

He always retained a kind feeling for the South, 
over whose hills he had borne his peddler's pack 
when a youth. After the war, two young ex-Con- 
federate soldiers came to San Francisco to seek 
their fortunes. A small room adjoining my office 
was vacant, and the brothers requested me to se- 
cure it for them as cheap as possible. I applied 
to Reese, telling him who the young men were, and 
describing their broken and impecunious condition. 

" Tell them to take the room free of rent — but 
it ought to bring five dollars a month." 

It took a mighty effi^rt, and he sighed as he 
spoke the words. I never heard of his acting sim- 
ilarly in any other case, and I put this down to his 
credit, glad to know that there was a warm spot in 



174 California Sketches. 

that mountain of mud and ice. A report of this 
generous act got afloat in the city, and many were 
the inquiries I received as to its truth. There was 
general incredulity. 

His health failed, and he crossed the seas. Per- 
haps he wished to visit his native hills in Germany, 
which he had last seen when a child. There he 
died, leaving all his millions to his kindred, save a 
bequest of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars 
to the University of California. What were his 
last thoughts, what was his final verdict concern- 
ing human life, I know not. Empty-handed he 
entered the world of spirits, where, the film foil en 
from his vision, he saw the Eternal Realities. 
What amazement must have followed his awaken- 
ing ! 



UNCLE NOLAN. 



HE was black and ugly; but it was an ugli- 
ness that did not disgust or repel you. His 
face had a touch both of the comic and the pathetic. 
His mouth was very wide, his lips very thick and 
the color of a ripe damson, blue-black; his nose 
made up in width what it lacked in elevation ; his 
ears were big, and bent forward ; his eyes were a 
dull Avhite, on a very dark ground ; his wool was 
white and thick. His age might be anywhere 
along from seventy onward. A black man's age, 
like that of a horse, becomes dubious after reach- 
ing a certain stage. 

He came to the class-meeting in the Pine-street 
Church, in San Francisco, one Sabbath morning. 
He asked leave to speak, which was granted. 

" Bredren, I come here sometime ago, from Vicks- 
burg, Mississippi, where I has lived forty year, or 
more. I heered dar was a culud church up on de 
hill, an' I thought I 'd go an' washup wid 'em. I 

(175) 



176 Califof^nia Sketches. 

weDt dar three or fo' Sundays, but I foun' deir 
ways did n't suit me, an' my ways did n't suit dem. 
Dey was Yankees' niggers, an' [proudly] I 's a 
Southern man myself. Sumbody tole me dar was 
a Southern Church down here on Pine street, an' I 
thought I 'd cum an' look in. Soon 's I got inside 
de church, an' look roun' a minit, I feels at home. 
Dey look like home-folks ; de preacher preach like 
home-folks; de people sing like home-folks. Yer 
see, chillun, I 'se a Southern man myself [emphat- 
ically], and I 'se a Southern Methodis'. Dis is de 
Church I was borned in, an' dis is de Church I 
was rarred in, an' [with great energy] dis is de 
Church which de Scripter says de gates ob hell 
shall not prevail ag'in it ! ["Amen ! " from Father 
Newman and others.] When dey heerd I was 
comin' to dis Church, some ob 'em got arter me 
'bout it. Dey say dis Church was a enemy to de 
black people, and dat dey was in favor ob slavery. 
I tole 'em de Scripter said, ' Love your enemies,' an' 
den I took de Bible an' read what it says about 
slavery — I can read some, chillun — 'Servants, 
obey yer masters in all things, not wid eye-service, 
as men-pleasers, but as unto de Lord;' and so on. 
But, bless yer souls, chillun, dey would n't lis'eu to 
dat — so I fowl' out dey was abberllsheii niggers, aii 
Ilef'em!" 

Yes, he left them, and came to us. I received 



Uncle Nolan. 177 

him into the Church in due form, and with no 
little eclat, he being the only son of Ham on our 
roll of members in San Francisco. He stood firm 
to his Southern Methodist colors under a great 
pressure. 

" Yer ought ter be killed fer goin' ter dat South- 
ern Church," said one of his colored acquaintances 
one day, as they met in the street. 

"Kill me, den," said Uncle Nolan, with proud 
humility; "kill me, den; yer can't cheat me out 
ob many days, nohow." 

He made a living, and something over, by rag- 
picking at North Beach and elsewhere, until the 
Chinese entered into competition with him, and 
then it was hard times for Uncle Nolan. His eye- 
sight partially failed him, and it was pitiful to see 
him on the beach, his threadbare garments flutter- 
ing in the wind, groping amid the rubbish for rags, 
or shuffling along the streets with a huge sack on 
his back, and his old felt hat tied under his nose 
with a string, picking his way carefully to spare 
his swollen feet, which were tied up with bagging 
and woolens. His religious fervor never cooled ; I 
never heard him complain. He never ceased to 
be joyously thankful for two things — his freedom 
and his religion. But, strange as it may seem, he 
was a pro-slavery man to the last. Even after the 
w'ar, he stood to his opinion. 
12 



178 California Sketches. 

" Dem uiggers in de South thinks dey is free, but 
dey ain't. 'Fore it 's all ober, all dat ain't dead will 
be glad to git back to deir masters," he would say. 

Yet he was very proud of his own freedom, and 
took the utmost care of his free-papers. He had 
no desire to resume his former relation to the pe- 
culiar and patriarchal institution. He was not 
the first philosopher \vho has had one theory for 
his fellows, and another for himself. 

Uncle Nolan would talk of religion by the hour. 
He never tired of that theme. His faith was sim- 
ple and strong, but, like most of his race, he had 
a tinge of superstition. He was a dreamer of 
dreams, and he believed in them. Here is one 
which he recited to me. His weird manner, and 
low, chanting tone, I must leave to the imagina- 
tion of the reader: 

Uncle Nolan's Dream. 

A tall black man came along, an' took me by de 
arm, an' tole me he had come for me. I said : 

"What yer want wid me?" 

"I come to carry yer down into de darkness." 

"What for?" 

" 'Cause you did n't follow de Lord." 

Wid dat, he pulled me 'long de street till he 
come to a big black house, de biggest house an' de 
thickest walls I eber seed. We went in a little 



Uncle Nolan. 179 

do', an' den he took me down a long sta'rs in de 
dark, till we come to a big do' ; we went inside, 
an' den de big black man locked de do' beliin' us. 
An' so we kep' on, goin' down, an' goin' down, an' 
goin' down, an' he kep' lockin' deni big iron do's 
behin' us, an' all de time it was pitch dark, so I 
could n't see him, but he still hel' on ter me. At 
las' we stopped, an' den he started to go 'way. He 
locked de do' behin' him, an' I heerd him goin' up 
de steps de way we come, lockin' all de do's behin' 
him as he went. I tell you, dat was dreaftul when 
I heerd dat big key turn on de outside, an' me 'way 
down, down, down dar in de dark all alone, an' 
no chance eber to git out! An' I knowed it was 
'cause I didn't foller de Lord. I felt roun' de 
place, an' dar was nothin' but de thick walls an' 
de great iron do'. Den I sot down an' cried, 
'cause I knowed I was a los' man. Dat was de 
same as hell [his voice sinking into a whisper], an' 
all de time I knowed I was dar, 'cause I had n't 
follered de Lord. Bymeby somethin' say, " Pray." 
Soniethin' keep sayin', "Pray." Den I drap on 
my knees an' prayed. I tell you, no man eber 
prayed harder 'n I did! I prayed, an' prayed, an' 
prayed! What's dat? Dar 's somebody a-comin' 
down dem stej^s ; dey 's unlockin' de do' ; an' de fus' 
thing I kuowed, de place was all lighted up bright 
as day, an' a white-faced man stood by me, wid a 



180 California Sketches. 

crown on his head, an' a golden key in his han'. 
Somehow, I k no wed it was Jesus, an' right den I 
waked up all of a tremble, an' knowed it was a 
warnin' dat I mus' foller de Lord. An', bless Je- 
sus, I has been follerin' him fifty year since I had 
dat dream. 

In his prayers, and class-meeting and love-feast 
talks, Uncle Nolan showed a depth of spiritual in- 
sight truly wonderful, and the effects of these talks 
were frequently electrical. Many a time have I 
seen the Pine-street brethren and sisters rise from 
their knees, at the close of one of his prayers, 
melted into tears, or thrilled to religious rapture, 
by the power of his simple faith, and the vividness 
of his sanctified imagination. 

He held to his pro-slavery views and guarded 
his own freedom-papers to the last; and when lie 
died, in 1875, the last colored Southern Methodist 
in California was transferred from the Church mil- 
itant to the great company that no man can num- 
ber, gathered out of every nation, and tribe, and 
kindred, on the earth. 



BUFFALO JONES. 



THAT is what the boys called him. His real 
Christian name was Zachariah. The way he 
got the name he went by was this : He was a Meth- 
odist, and prayed in public. He was excitable, 
and his lungs were of extraordinary power. When 
fully aroused, his voice sounded, it was said, like 
the bellowing of a whole herd of buffaloes. It 
had peculiar reverberations — rumbling, roaring, 
shaking the very roof of the sanctuary, or echoing 
among the hills when let out at its utmost strength 
at a camp-meeting. This is why they called him 
Buffalo Jones. It was his voice. There never 
was such another. In Ohio he was a blacksmith 
and a fighting man. He had whipped every man 
who would fight him, in a whole tier of counties. 
He was converted after the old way ; that is to say, 
he was "powerfully" converted. A circuit-rider 
preached the sermon that converted him. His an- 
guish was awful. The midnight hour found him 

(181) 



182 Califohnia Sketches. 

ill tears. The Ohio forest resounded with his cries 
for mercy. When he found peace, it swelled into 
rajDture. He joined the Church militant among 
the Methodists, and he stuck to them, quarreled 
■with them, and loved them, all his life. He had 
many troubles, and gave much trouble to many 
people. The old Adam died hard in the fighting 
blacksmith. His pastor, his family, his friends, 
his fellow-members in the Church, all got a portion 
of his wrath in due season, if they swerved a 
hair-breadth from the straight-line of duty as he 
saw it. I was his pastor, and I never had a truer 
friend, or a severer censor. One Sunday morning 
he electrified my congregation, at the close of the 
sermon, by rising in his place and making a per- 
sonal application of a portion of it to individuals 
present, and insisting on their immediate expulsion 
from the Church. He had another side to his 
character, and at times was as tender as a woman. 
He acted as class-leader. In his molting moods 
he moved every eye to tears, as he passed round 
among the brethren and sisters, weeping, exhort- 
ing, and rejoicing. At such times, his great voice 
softened into a pathos that none could resist, and 
swept the chords of sympathy with resistless power. 
But when his other mood was uj)on him, he was 
fearful. He scourged the unfaithful with a whip 
of fire. He w^ould quote with a singular fluency 



Buffalo Jones. 183 

and aptness every passage of Script'ire that blast- 
ed hypocrites, reproved the lukewarm, or threat- 
ened damnation to the sinner. At such times his 
voice sounded like the shout of a warrior in battle, 
and the timid and wondering hearers looked as if 
they were in the midst of the thunder and light- 
ning of a tropical" storm. I remember the shock 
he gave a qxuet and timid lady whom I had per- 
suaded to remain for the class-meeting after serv- 
ice. Fixing his stern and fiery gaze upon her, and 
knitting his great bushy eyebrows, he thundered 
the question : 

"Sister, do you ever pray?" 

The startled woman nearly sprang from her seat 
in a panic as she stammered hurriedly, 

"Yes, sir; yes, sir." 

She did not attend his class-meeting again. 

At a camp-meeting he was present, and in one 
of his bitterest moods. The meeting was not con- 
ducted in a way to suit him. He was grim, crit- 
ical, and contemptuous, making no concealment of 
his dissatisfaction. The preaching displeased him 
particularly. He groaned, frowned, and in other 
ways showed his feelings. At length he could 
stand it no longer. A young brother had just 
closed a sermon of a mild and persuasive kind, 
and no sooner had he taken his seat than the old 
man arose. Looking forth upon the vast audience. 



184 California Sketches. 

and then casting a sharp and scornful glance at 
the preachers in and around "the stand," he 
said : 

*' You preachers of these days have no gospel in 
you. You remind me of a man going into his 
barn-yard early in the mornin"; to feed his stock. 
He has a basket on his arm, a'nd here come the 
horses nickering, the cows lowing, the calves and 
sheep bleating, the hogs squealing, the turkeys 
gobbling, the hens clucking, and the roosters crow- 
ing. They all gather round him, expecting to be 
fed, and lo, his basket is empty ! You take texts, 
and you preach, but you have no gospel. Your 
baskets are empty." 

Here he darted a defiant glance at the astonished 
preachers, and then, turning to one, he added in a 
milder and patronizing tone: 

"You, Brother Sim, do preach a little gospel — 
in your basket there is one little nubbin/" 

Down he sat, leaving the brethren to meditate 
on Avhat he had said. The silence that followed 
was deep. 

At one time his conscience became troubled 
about the use of tobacco, and he determined to 
quit. This was the second great struggle of his 
life. He was running a saw-mill in the foot-hills 
at the time, and lodged in a little cabin near by. 
Suddenly deprived of the stimulant to which it 



Buffalo Jones. 185 

had so long been accustomed, his nervous system 
was wrought up to a pitch of frenzy. He woukl 
rush from the cabin, climb along the hill-side, run 
leaping from rock to rock, now and then scream- 
ing like a maniac. Then he would rush back to 
the cabin, seize a plug of tobacco, smell it, rub it 
against his lips, and away he would go again. He 
smelt, but never tasted it again. 

"I was resolved to conquer, and by the grace 
of God I did," he said. 

That was a great victory for the fighting black- 
smith. 

When a melodeon was introduced into the 
church, he was sorely grieved and furiously angry. 
He argued against it, he expostulated, he protest- 
ed, he threatened, he staid away from church. 
He wrote me a letter, in which he expressed his 

feelings thus : 

San Jose, 1860. 

Dear Brother: — They have got the devil into the 
chnrch now ! Put your foot on its tail and it squeals. 

Z. Jones. 

This was his figurative way of putting it. I was 
told that he had, on a former occasion, dealt with 
the question in a more summary way, by taking 
his ax and splitting a melodeon to pieces. 

Neutrality in politics was, of course, impossible 
to such a man. In the civil war his heart was 



186 Califohnia Sketches. 

with the South. He gave up when Stonewall 
Jackson was killed. 

"It is all over — the praying man is gone," he 
said ; and he sobbed like a child. From that day 
he had no hope for the Confederacy, though once 
or twice, when feeling ran high, he expressed a 
readiness to use carnal weapons in defense of his 
political principles. For all his opinions on the 
subject he found support from the Bible, which he 
read and studied with unwearying diligence. He 
took its words literally on all occasions, and the 
Old Testament history had a wonderful charm for 
him. He would have been ready to hew any mod- 
ern Agag in pieces before the Lord. 

He finally found his way to the Insane Asylum. 
The reader has already seen how abnormal was 
his mind, and will not be surprised that his storm- 
tossed soul lost its rudder at last. But mid all its 
veerings he never lost sight of the Star that had 
shed its light upon his checkered path of life. He 
raved, and prayed, and wept, by turns. The hor- 
rors of mental despair would be followed by gleams 
of seraphic joy. When one of his stormy moods 
was upon him, his mighty voice could be heard 
above all the sounds of that sad and pitiful com- 
pany of broken and wrecked souls. The old class- 
meetiu": instinct and habit showed itself in his 
semi-lucid intervals. He would go round among 



Buffalo Jones. 187 

the patients questioning them as to their religious 
feeling and behavior in true class-meeting style. 
Dr. Shurtleff one day overheard a colloquy be- 
tween him and Dr. Rogers, a free-thinker and 
reformer, whose vagaries had culminated in his 
shaving close one side of his immense whiskers, 
leaving the other side in all its flowing amplitude. 
Poor fellow ! Pitiable as Avas his case, he made a 
ludicrous figure walking the streets of San Fran- 
cisco half shaved, and defiant of the wonder and 
ridicule he excited. The ex -class -leader's voice 
was earnest and loud, as he said : 

"Now, Rogers, you must pray. If you will get 
down at the feet of Jesus, and confess your sins, 
and ask him to bless you, he will hear you, and 
give you peace. But if you won't do it," he con- 
tinued, with growing excitement and kindling 
anger at the thought, " you are the most infernal 
rascal that ever lived, and I '11 beat you into a 
jelly!" 

The good Doctor had to interfere at this point, 
for the old man was in the very act of carrying 
out his threat to punish Rogers bodily, on the bare 
possibility that he would not pray as he was told 
to do. And so that extemporized class -meeting 
came to an abrupt end. 

" Pray with me," he said to me the last time I 
saw him at the Asylum. Closing the door of the 



188 



California Sketches. 



little private office, we knelt side by side, and 
the poor old sufferer, bathed in tears, and docile as 
a little child, prayed to the once suffering, once 
crucified, but risen and interceding Jesus. When 
he arose from his knees his eyes were wet, and his 
face showed that there was a great calm within. 
We never met again. He went home to die. The 
storms that had swept his soul subsided, the light 
of reason was rekindled, and the light of faith 
burned brightly; and in a few weeks he died in 
great peace, and another glad voice joined in the 
anthems of the blood-washed millions in the city 
of God. 




TOD KOBINSON. 



THE image of this man of many moods and 
brilliant genius that rises most distinctly to 
my mind is that connected with a little prayer- 
meeting in the Minna-street Church, San Francis- 
co, one Thursday night. His thin silver locks, his 
dark flashing eye, his graceful pose, and his musical 
voice, are before me. His words I have not for- 
gotten, but their electric effect must forever be lost 
to all except the few who heard them. 

"I have been taunted with the reproach that it 
w^as only after I was a broken and disappointed 
man in my worldly hopes and aspirations that I 
turned to religion. The taunt is just" — here he 
bowed his head, and paused with deep emotion — 
"the taunt is just. I bow my head in shame, and 
take the blow. My earthly hopes have faded and 
fallen one after another. The prizes that dazzled 
my imagination have eluded my grasp. I am a 
broken, gray-haired man, and I bring to my God 

(189) 



190 California Sketches. 

ouly the remnant of a life. But, brethren, it is 
this very thought that fills me with joy and grati- 
tude at this moment — the thought that when all 
else fails God takes us up. Just when we need 
him most, and most feel our need of him, he lifts 
us up out of the dejDths where we had groveled, 
and presses us to his Fatherly heart. This is the 
glory of Christianity. The world turns from us 
when we fail and fall ; then it is that the Lord 
draws nigher. Such a religion must be from God, 
for its principles are God-like. It does not require 
much skill or power to steer a ship into port when 
her timbers are sound, her masts all rigged, and 
her crew at their posts ; but the pilot that can take 
an old hulk, rocking on the stormy waves, with its 
masts torn away, its rigging gone, its planks loose 
and leaking, and bring it safe to harbor, that is 
the pilot for me. Brethren, I am that hulk; and 
Jesus is that Pilot ! " 

" Glory be to Jesus ! " exclaimed Father New- 
man, as the speaker, with swimming eyes, radiant 
face, and heaving chest, sunk into his seat. I 
never heard any thing finer from mortal lips, but 
it seems cold to me as I read it here. Oratory 
cannot be put on paper. 

He was present once at a camp-meeting, at the 
famous Toll-gate Camp -ground, in Santa Clara 
Valley, near the city of San Jose. It was Sabbath 



Tod Robinson. 191 

morniug, just such a one as seldom dawns on this 
earth. The brethren and sisters were gathered 
around "the stand" under the live-oaks for a speak- 
ing-meeting. The morning glory was on the sum- 
raits of the Santa Cruz Mountains that sloped down 
to the sacred spot, the lovely valley smiled under 
a sapphire sky, the birds hopped from twig to tNvig 
of the overhanging branches that scarcely quiv- 
ered in the still air, and seemed to peer inquiringly 
into the fiices of the assembled worshipers. The 
bugle-voice of Bailey led in a holy song, and Sim- 
mons led in prayer that touched the eternal throne. 
One after another, gray-haired men and saintly 
women told when and how they began the new life 
far away on the old hills they w^ould never see 
again, and how they had been led and comforted 
in their pilgrimage. Young disciples, in the flush 
of their first love, and the rapture of new^-born 
hope, were borne out on a tide of resistless feeling 
into that ocean whose waters encircle the universe. 
The radiance from the heavenly hills was reflected 
from the consecrated encampment, and the angels 
of God hovered over the spot. Judge Robinson 
rose to his feet, and stepped into the altar, the sun- 
light at that moment falling upon his face. Every 
voice was hushed, as, with the orator's indefinable 
magnetism, he drew every eye upon him. The 
pause was thrilling. At length he spoke: 



192 California Sketches. 

" This is a mount of transfiguration. The trans- 
figuration is on hill and valley, on tree and shrub, 
on grass and flower, on earth and sky. It is on 
your faces that shine like the face of Moses when 
he came down from the awful mount where he met 
Jehovah face to face. The same light is on your 
faces, for here is God's shekinah. This is the gate 
of heaven. I see its shining hosts, I hear the mel- 
ody of its songs. The angels of God encamped 
with us last night, and they linger with us this 
morning. Tarry with us, ye sinless ones, for this 
is heaven on earth ! " 

He paused, with extended arm, gazing upward en- 
tranced. The scene that followed beggars descrip- 
tion. By a simultaneous impulse all rose to their 
feet and pressed toward the speaker with awe-struck 
faces, and when Grandmother Kucker, the matri- 
arch of the valley, with luminous face and uplifted 
eyes, broke into a shout, it swelled into a melodious 
hurricane that shook the very hills. He ought to 
have been a preacher. So he said to me once: 

"I felt the impulse and heard the call in my 
early manhood. I conferred with flesh and blood, 
and was disobedient to the heavenly vision. I 
have had some little success at the bar, on the 
hustings, and in legislative halls, but how paltry 
has it been in comparison with the true life and 
high career that might have been mine!" 



Tod Robinson. 193 

He was from the hill-country of North Carolina, 
and its flavor clung to him to the last. He had 
his gloomy moods, but his heart was fresh as a 
Blue Ridge breeze in May, and his wit bubbled 
forth like a mountain-spring. There was no bit- 
terness in his satire. The very victim of his thrust 
enjoyed the keenness of the stroke, for there was 
no poison in the weapon. At times he seemed in- 
spired, and you thrilled, melted, and soared, under 
the touches of this Western Coleridge. He came 
to my room at the Golden Eagle, in Sacramento 
City, one night, and left at two o'clock in the 
morning. He walked the floor and talked, and it 
was the grandest monologue I ever listened to. 
One part of it I could not forget. It was with 
reference to preachers who turn aside from their 
holy calling to engage in secular pursuits, or in 
politics. 

" It is turning away from angels' food to feed on 
garbage. Think of spending a whole life in con- 
templating the grandest things, and working for the 
most glorious ends, instructing the ignorant, con- 
soling the sorrowing, winning the wayward back 
to duty and to peace, pointing the dying to Him 
who is the light and the life of men, animating the 
living to seek from the highest motives a holy life 
and a sublime destiny! O it is a life that might 
draw an angel from the skies ! If there is a spe- 
13 



104 Califohnia Sketches. 

cial hell for fools, it should be kej^t for the man 
who turns aside from a life like this, to trade, or 
dig the earth, or wrangle in a court of law, or 
scramble for an office." 

He looked at me as he spoke, with flashing eyes 
and curled lip. 

"That is all true and very fine. Judge, but it 
sounds just a little peculiar as coming from you." 

"I am the very man to say it, for I am the man 
who bitterly sees its truth. Do not make the mis- 
step that I did. A man might well be willing to 
live on bread and water, and walk the world afoot, 
for the privilege of giving all his thoughts to the 
grandest themes, and all his service to the highest 
objects. As a lawyer, my life has been spent in a 
prolonged quarrel about money, land, houses, cat- 
tle, thieving, slandering, murdering, and other vil- 
lainy. The little episodes of politics that have 
given variety to my career have only shown me 
the baseness of human nature, and the pettiness 
of human ambition. There are men who will fill 
these places and do this work, and who want and 
will choose nothing better. Let them have all the 
good they can get out of such things. But the 
minister of the gospel who comes down from the 
height of his high calling to engage in this scram- 
ble docs that which makes devils laugh and angels 
weep." 



Tod Bobixson. 795 

This was the substance of what he said on this 
point. I have never forgotten it. I am glad he 
came to my room that night. What else he said 
I cannot write, but the remembrance of it is like 
to that of a melody that lingers in my soul when 
the music has ceased. 

"I thank you for your sermon to-day — you never 
told a single lie." 

This was his remark at the close of a service in 
Minna street one Sunday. 

"What is the meaning of that remark?" 

"That the exaggerations of the pulpit repel 
thousands from the truth. Moderation of state- 
ment is a rare excellence. A deep spiritual in- 
sight enables a religious teacher to shade his mean- 
ings w'here it is required. Deep piety is genius 
for the pulpit. Mediocrity in native endowments, 
conjoined with spiritual stolidity in the pulpit, does 
more harm than all the open apostles of infidelity 
combined. They take the divinity out of religion 
and kill the faitli of those who hear them. None 
but inspired men should stand in the pulpit. Re- 
ligion is not in the intellect merely. The world 
by wisdom cannot know God. The attempt to find 
out God by the intellect has always been, and al- 
w^ays must be, the completest of failures. Relig- 
ion is the sphere of the supernatural, and stands 
not in the wisdom of men, l)ut in the power of 



196 Califohnia Sketches. 

God. It has often hai)peiietl that men of the first 
order of talent and the highest culture have been 
converted by the preaching of men of weak intellect 
and limited education, but who were directly taught 
of God, and had drunk deep from the fount of living 
truth in personal experience of the blessed power 
of Christian ftiith. It was through the intellect that 
the devil seduced the first pair. When we rest in 
the intellect only, we miss God. With the heart 
only can man believe unto righteousness. The 
evidence that satisfies is based on consciousness. 
Consciousness is the satisfying demonstration. 

^^Eije hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have 
entered into the heart of man, the things which God 
hath j^rejjared for them that love him. But God 
hath revealed them unto us by his Spirit. They can 
be revealed in no other way." 

Here was the secret he had learned, and that 
had brought a new joy and glory into his life as it 
neared the sunset. The great change dated froni 
a dark and rainy night as he walked home in Sac- 
ramento City. Not more tangible to Saul of Tar- 
sus was the vision, or more distinctly audible the 
voice that spoke to him on the way to Damascus, 
than was the revelation of Jesus Christ to this 
lawyer of penetrating intellect, large and varied 
reading, and sharp perception of human folly and 
weakness. It was a case of conversion in the full- 



Tod Bobinson. 107 

est and divinest sense. He never fell from the 
wonder-world of grace to which he had been lifted. 
His youth seemed to be renewed, and his life had 
rebloomed, and its winter was turned into spring, 
under the touch of Him who maketh all things 
new. He was a new man, and he lived in a new 
world. He never failed to attend the class-meet- 
ings, and in his talks there the flashes of his genius 
set religious truths in new lights, and the little 
band of Methodists were treated to bursts of fervid 
eloquence, such as might kindle the listening thou- 
sands of metropolitan churches into admiration, 
or melt them into tears. On such occasions I could 
not help regretting anew that the world had lost 
what this man might have wrought had his path 
in life taken a different direction at the start. He 
died suddenly, and when in the city of Los Ange- 
les I read the telegram announcing his death, I 
felt, mingled Avith the pain at the loss of a friend, 
exultation that before there was any reaction in 
his religious life his mighty soul had found a con- 
genial home amid the supernal glories and sublime 
joys of the world of S2iirits. The moral of this 
man's life will be seen by him for whom this im- 
perfect Sketch has been penciled. 



AH LEE. 



H 



E was tlie sunniest of IMongolians. The 
Chinaman, under favorable conditions, is 
not without a sly sense of humor of his peculiar 
sort ; but to American eyes there is nothing very 
pleasant in his angular and smileless features. 
The manner of his contact with many Californians 
is not calculated to evoke mirthfulness. The brick- 
bat may be a good political argument in the hands 
of a hoodlum, but it does not make its target play- 
ful. To the Chinaman in America the situation 
is new and grave, and he looks sober and holds his 
peace. Even the funny -looking, be -cued little 
Chinese children wear a look of solemn inquisitive- 
ness, as they toddle along the streets of San Fran- 
cisco by the side of their queer-looking mothers. 
In his own land, over-populated and misgoverned, 
the Chinaman has a hard fight for existence. In 
these United States his advent is regarded some- 
what in the same spirit as that of tlie seventeen- 

(198) 



Ah Lee. 199 

year locusts, or the cotton-worm. The history of 
a people may be read in their physiognomy. The 
monotony of Chinese life during these thousands 
of years is reflected in the dull, monotonous faces 
of Chinamen. 

Ah Lee was an exception. His skin was almost 
fair, his features almost Caucasian in their regu- 
larity; his dark eye lighted up with a peculiar 
brightness, and there was a remarkable buoyancy 
and glow about him every way. He was about 
tw^enty years old. How long he had been in Cali- 
fornia I know not. When he came into my office 
to see nie the first time, he rushed forward and im- 
pulsively grasped my hand, saying : 

"My name Ah Lee — you Doctor Plitzjellie?" 

That was the way my name sounded as he spoke 
it. I was glad to see him, and told him so. 

"You makee Christian newspaper? You talkee 
Jesus? Mr. Taylor tellee me. Me Christian — me 
love Jesus." 

Yes, Ah Lee was a Christian ; there could be no 
doubt about that. I have seen many happy con- 
verts, but none happier than he. He was not 
merely happy — he was ecstatic. 

The story of the mighty change was a simple 
one, but thrilling. Near Vacaville, the former 
seat of the Pacific Methodist College, in Solana 
county, lived the Rev. Iry Taylor, a member of 



200 California Sketches. 

the Pacific Conference of the Methodist Episcopal 
Church, Soiitli. Mr. Taylor was a praying man, 
and he had a praying wife. Ah Lee was employed 
as a domestic in the family. His curiosity was first 
excited in regard to family prayers. He wanted 
to know what it all meant. The Taylors explained. 
The old, old story took hold of Ah Lee. He was 
put to thinking and then to praying. The idea of 
the forgiveness of sins filled him with wonder and 
longing. He hung with breathless interest upon 
the word of the Lord, opening to him a world of 
new thought. The tide of feeling bore him on, and 
at the foot of the cross he found what he sought. 

Ah Lee was converted — converted as Paul, as 
Augustine, as Wesley, were converted. He was 
born into a new^ life that was as real to him as his 
consciousness was real. This psychological change 
will be understood by some of my readers; others 
may regard it as they do any other inexplicable 
phenomenon in that mysterious inner worl.d of the 
human soul, in which are lived the real lives of us 
all. In Ah Lee's heathen soul was wrought the 
gracious wonder that makes joy among the angels 
of God. 

The young Chinese disciple, it is to be feared, 
got little sympathy outside the Taylor household 
and a few others. The riu-ht-hand of Christian 
fellowship was withheld by many, or extended in 



Ah Lee. 201 

a cold, half-reluctuiit way. But it mattered not to 
Ah Lee; he had his own heaven. Coldness was 
wasted on liini. The light within him brightened 
every thing without. 

Ah Lee became a frequent visitor to our cottage 
on the hill. He always came and went rejoicing. 
The Gospel of John was his daily study and de- 
light. To his ardent and receptive nature it was 
a diamond mine. Two things he wanted to do. 
He had a strong desire to translate his ftivorite 
Gospel into Chinese, and to lead his parents to 
Christ. When he spoke of his father and mother 
his voice would soften, his eyes moisten with ten- 
derness. 

"I go back to China and tellee my fader and 
mudder allee good news," he said, with beaming 
face. 

This peculiar development of filial reverence 
iand affection among the Chinese is a hopeful feat- 
ure of their national life. It furnishes a solid 
basis for a strong Christian nation. The weaken- 
ing of this sentiment weakens religious suscepti- 
bility; its destruction is spiritual death. The 
worship of ancestors is idolatry, but it is that form 
of it nearest akin to the worship of the Heavenly 
Father. The honoring of the father and mother 
on earth is the commandment with promise, and it 
is the promise of this life and of life everlasting. 



202 California Sketches. 

There is an iiiterblending of human and divine 
loves; earth and heaven are unitary in compan- 
ionship and destiny. The goklen ladder rests on 
the earth and reaches up into the heavens. 

About twice a week Ah Lee came to see us at 
Korth Beach. These visits subjected our courtesy 
and tact to a severe test. He loved little children, 
and at each visit he would bring with him a gayly- 
painted box filled w ith Chinese sweetmeats. Such 
sw^eetmeats! They were toi) strong for the palates 
of even young Califoruians. What cannot be rel- 
ished and digested by a healthy California boy must 
be formidable indeed. Those sweetmeats were — 
but I give it up, they were indescribable! The 
boxes were pretty, and, after being emptied of their 
contents, they were kept. 

All Lee's joy in his new experience did not 
abate. Under the touch of the Holy Spirit, his 
spiritual nature had suddenly blossomed into trop- 
ical luxuriance. To look at him made me think 
of the second chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. 
If I had had any lingering doubts of the trans- 
forming power of the gospel upon all human 
hearts, this conversion of Ah Lee would have set- 
tled the question forever. The bitter feeling against 
the Chinese that just then found expression in 
California, through so many channels, did not 
seem to affect him in the least. He had his Chris- 



Ah Lee. 203 

tianity warm from the heart of the Son of God, 
and no caricature of its features or perversion of 
its spirit could bewilder him for a moment. He 
knew whom he had believed. None of these things 
moved him. O blessed mystery of God's mercy, 
that turns the night of heathen darkness into day, 
and makes the desert soul bloom with the flowers 
of paradise ! O cross of the Crucified ! Lifted 
up, it shall draw all men to their Saviour! And 

blind and slow of heart to believe! why could 
we not discern that this young Chinaman's conver- 
sion was our Lord's gracious challenge to our faith, 
and the pledge of success to the Church that will 
go into all the world with the news of salvation ? 

Ah Lee has vanished from ray observation, but 

1 have a persuasion that is like a burning proph- 
ecy that he will be heard from again. To me he 
types the blessedness of old China new-born in the 
life of the Lord, and in his luminous face I read 
the prophecy of the redemption of the millions 
who have so long bowed before the Great Red 
Dragon, but who now wait for the coming of the 
Deliverer. 



THE CLIMATE OF CALIFORNIA. 



HAD Shakespeare lived in California, he 
would not have written of the " winter of 
our discontent," but would most probably have 
found in the summer of that then undiscovered 
country a more fitting symbol of the troublous 
times referred to; for, with the fogs, winds, and 
dust, that accompany the summer, or the "dry 
season," as it is more appropriately called in Cali- 
fornia, it is emphatically a season of discontent. 
In the mountains of the State only are these con- 
ditions not found. True, you will find, dust even 
there as the natural consequence of the lack of 
rain; but that is not, of course, so bad in the 
mountains; and with no persistent, nagging wind 
to pick it up and fling it spitefully at you, you soon 
get not to mind it at all. But of summer in the 
coast country it is hard to speak tolerantly. The 
perfect flower of its unloveliness flourishes in San 
Francisco, and, more or less hardily, all along the 
(204) 



The Climate of California. 205 

coast. From the time the rains cease — generally 
some time in May — through the six-months' period 
of their cessation, the programme for the day is, 
with but few exceptions, unvaried. Fog in the 
morning — chilling, penetrating fog, which obscures 
the rays of the morning sun completely, and, dank 
and " clinging like cerements," swathes every thing 
with its soft, gray folds. On the bay it hangs, 
heavy and chill, blotting out every thing but the 
nearest objects, and at a little distance hardly dis- 
tinguishable from the water itself. At such times 
is heard the warning-cry of the fog-horns at Fort 
Point, Goat Island, and elsewhere — a sound which 
probably is more like that popularly supposed to 
be produced by an expiring cow in her last agony 
than any thing else, but which is not like that or 
any thing in the world but a fog-horn. The fog 
of the morning, however, gives way to the wind of 
the afternoon, which, complete n^aster of the situ- 
ation by three o'clock p.m., holds stormy sway till 
sunset. No gentle zephyr this, to softly sway the 
delicate flower or just lift the fringe on the maid- 
en's brow, but \\hsit seamen call a "spanking 
breeze," that does not hesitate to knock off the hat 
that is not fas|;ened tightly both fore and aft to the 
underlying head, or to fling sand and dust into 
any exposed eye, and which dances around gen- 
erally amqng skirts and coat-tails with untiring 



206 California Sketches. 

energy and persistency. To venture out on the 
streets of San Francisco at such times is really no 
trifling matter; and to one not accustomed to it, 
or to one of a non-combative disposition, the per- 
formance is not a pleasant one. Still the streets 
are always full of hurrying passengers ; for, whether 
attributable to the extra amount of vitality and 
vim that this bracing climate imparts to its chil- 
dren, or to a more direct and obvious cause, the 
desire to get in-doors again as soon as possible, the 
flict remains the same — that the people of Califor- 
nia walk faster than do those of almost any other 
country. Not only men either, who with their 
coats buttoned up to their chins, and hats jammed 
tightly over their half-shut eyes, present a tolera- 
bly secure surface to the attacks of the wind, but 
their fairer sisters too can be seen, with their fresh 
cheeks and bright eyes protected by jaunty veils, 
scudding along in the face or the track of the 
wind, as the case may ])e, with wonderful skill and 
grace, looking as trim and secure as to rigging as 
the lightest schooner in full sail on their own bay. 
But it is after the sun has gone down from the 
cloudless sky, and the sea has recalled its breezes 
to slumber for the night, that the fulfillment of the 
law of compensation is made evident in this mat- 
ter. The nights arc of silver, if the days be not 
of gold. And all over tlie State this blessing of 



The Climate of California. 207 

cool, comfortable nights is spread. At any season, 
one can draw a pair of blankets over him upon re- 
tiring, sure of sound, refreshing slumber, unless as- 
sailed by mental or physical troubles to which even 
this glorious climate of California cannot minister. 
The country here during this rainless season 
does not seem to the Eastern visitor enough like 
what he has known as country in the summer to 
warrant any outlay in getting there. He must, 
however, understand that here people go to the 
country for precisely oj^posite reasons to those 
which influence Eastern tourists to leave the city 
and betake themselves to rural districts. In the 
East, one leaves the crowded streets and heated 
atmosphere of the great city to seek coolness in 
some sylvan retreat. Here, we leave the chilling 
winds and fogs of the city to try to get warm 
where they cannot penetrate. Warm it may be; 
but the country at this season is not at its best as 
to looks. The flowers and the grass have disap- 
peared with the rains, the latter, however, keeping 
in its dry, brown roots, that the sun scorches daily, 
the germ of all next winter's green. Of the trees, 
the live-oak alone keeps to the summer livery of 
Eastern forests. Farther up in the mountain coun- 
ties, it is very different. No fairer summer could 
l)e wished for than that which reigns cloudless 
here; and with the sparkling champagne of that 



208 CALiFoiiNiA Sketches. 

clear, dry air in his nostrils, our Eastern visitor 
forgets even to sigh for a summer shower to lay 
the dreadful dust. And even in the valleys and 
around the bay, we must confess that some advan- 
tages arise from the no-rain-for-six-months policy. 
Picnickers can set forth any day, with no fear of 
the fun of the occasion being wet-blanketed by an 
unlooked-for shower ; and farmers can dispose of 
their crops according to convenience, often leaving 
their wheat piled up in the field, with no fear of 
danger from the elements. 

Still we do get very tired of this long, s|;range sum- 
mer, and the first rains are eagerly looked for and 
joyously welcomed. The fall of the first showers 
after such a long season of bareness and brown- 
ness is almost as immediate in its effects as the 
waving of a fairy's magic wand over Cinderella, 
sitting ragged in the ashes and cinders. The 
change thus wrought is \yell described by a poet 
of the soil in a few picturesque lines: 

Week by week the near hills whitened, 
In their dusty leather cloaks; 

Week by week the far hills darkened, 
From the fringing plain of oaks; 

Till the rains came, and far breaking. 
On tlie fiei'ce south-wester tost, 

Dashed the whole long coast with color, 
And then vanished and were lost. 



The Climate of California, 209 

With these rains the grass springs up, the trees 
put out, and the winds disappear, leaving in the 
air a wonderful softness. In a month or two the 
flowers appear, and the hills are covered with a 
mantle of glory. Bluebells, lupins, buttercups, 
and hosts of other blossoms, spring up in profu- 
sion ; and, illuminating every thing, the wild Cali- 
fornia poppy lifts its flaming torch, typifying well, 
in its dazzling and glowing color, the brilliant 
minds and passionate hearts of the people of this 
land. All these bloom on through the winter, for 
this is a winter but in name. With no frost, ice, 
or snow, it is more like an Eastern spring, but for 
the absence of that feeling of languor and debility 
which is so often felt in that season. True it rains 
a good deal, but by no means constantly, more 
often in the night ; and it is this season of smiles 
and tears, this winter of powers and budding trees, 
in which the glory of the California climate lies. 
Certainly nothing could be more perfect than a 
bright winter day in that State. Still, after all I 
could say in its praise, you would not know its full 
charm till you had felt its delicious breath on your 
own brow; for the peculiar freshness and exhilara- 
tion of the air are indescribable. 

Sometimes in March, the dwellers on the bay 
are treated to a IjIow or two from the north, which 
is about as serious weather as the inhabitant of that 
14 



210 Califoexia Sketches. 

favored clime ever experiences. After a night 
wliose sleep has been broken by shrieks of the 
wind and the rattling of doors and ^vindows, I wake 
with a dullness of head and sensitiveness of nerve 
that albne would be sufficient to tell me that the 
north wind had risen like a thief in the night, and 
had not, according to the manner of that class, 
stolen away before morning. On the contrary, he 
seems to be rushing around with an energy that 
betokens a day of it. I dress, and look out of my 
window. The bay is a mass of foaming, tossing 
waves, which, as they break on the beach just be- 
low, cast their spray twenty feet in air. All the 
little vessels have come into port, and only a few 
of the largest ships still ride heavily at their an- 
chors. The line separating the shallow water near 
the shore from the deeper waters beyond is much 
farther out than usual, and is more distinct. With- 
in its boundary, the predominant white is mixed 
with a dark, reddish brow'n; without, the spots of 
color are darkest green. The sky has been swept 
of every particle of cloud and moisture, and is al- 
most painfully blue. Against it. Mounts Tamal- 
pais and Diablo stand outlined with startling clear- 
ness. The hills and islands round the bay look as 
cold and uncomfortable in their robes of bright 
green as a young lady who has put on her spring- 
dress too S(jon. The streets and walks are swept 



The Climate oe California. 211 

bare, but still the air is filled with flying sand that 
cuts my face like needles, when, later, overcoated 
and gloved to the utmost, I proceed down-town. 
Such days are Nature's cleaning days, very neces- 
sary to future health and comfort, but, like all 
cleaning-days, very unpleasant to go through with. 
With her mightiest besom does the old lady sweep 
all the cobwebs from the sky, all the dirt and 
germs of disease from the ground, and remove 
all specks and impurities from her air -windows. 
One or two such "northers" finish up the season, 
effectually scaring aw^ay all the clouds, thus clear- 
ing the stage for the next act in this annual drama 
of two acts. 

This climate of California is perfectly epitomized 
in a stanza of the same poem before quoted : 

So each year the season shifted, 
Wet and warm, and drear and dry, 

Half a year of cloud and flowers. 
Half a year of dust and sky. 



AFTEK THE STOEM. 



(Penciled in the bay-window above the Golden Gate, North 
Beach, San Francisco, February 20, 1873.) 

ALL day the winds the sea had lashed, 
The fretted waves in anger dashed 
Against the rocks in tumult wild 
Above the surges roughly piled — 
No blue above, no peace below, 
The waves still rage, the winds still blow. 

Dull and muffled the sunset gun 

Tells that the dreary day is done; 

The sea-birds fly with drooping wing — 

Chill and shadow^ on every thing — 

No blue above, no peace below, 

The waves still rage, the winds still blow. 

The clouds dispart; the sapphire dye 
In beauty spreads o'er the western sky, 
Cloud-fires blaze o'er the Gate of Gold, 
Gleaming and glowing, fold on fold — 

(212j 



After the Storm. 213 

All blue above, all peace below, 

Nor waves now rage, nor winds now blow. 

Souls that are lashed by storms of pain. 
Eyes that drip with sorrow's rain ; 
Hearts that burn with passion strong, 
Bruised and torn, and weary of wrong — 
No light above, no peace within, 
Battling with self, and torn, by sin — 

Hope on, hold on, the clouds will lift ; 
God's peace will come as his own sweet gift. 
The light will shine at evening-time, 
The reflected beams of the sunlit clime, 
The blessed goal of the soul's long quest. 
Where storms ne'er beat, and all are blest. 



BISHOP KAVANAUGH IN CALIFORNIA. 



HE came first in 1856. Tlie Californians 
"took to" him at ODce. It was almost as 
good as a visit to the old home to see and hear this 
rosy-faced, benignant, and solid Kentuckian. His 
power and pathos in the pulpit were equaled by 
his humor and magnetic charm in the social circle. 
Many consciences were stirred. All hearts were 
won by him, and he holds them unto this day. 
We may hope too that many souls were won that 
will be stars in his crown of rejoicing in the day 
of Jesus Christ. 

At San Jose, his quality as a preacher was de- 
veloped by an incident that excited no little popu- 
lar interest. The (Northern) Methodist Confer- 
ence was in session at that place, the venerable 
and saintly Bishop Scott presiding; Bishop Kava- 
naugh was invited to preach, and it so happened 
that he was to do so on the night following an ap- 
pointment for Bishop Scott. The matter was talked 
(214) 



Bishop Kavanaugh in California. 215 

(if in the town, and not unnaturally a spirit of 
friendly rivalry Avas excited with regard to the 
approaching 2:)ulpit performances by the Northern 
and Southern Bishops respectively. One enthu- 
siastic but not pious Kentuckian offered to bet a 
hundred dollars that Kavanaugh would preach 
the better sermon. Of course the two venerable 
men were unconscious of all this, and nothing 
of the kind was in their hearts. The church was 
thronged to hear Bishop Scott, and his humility, 
strong sense, deep earnestness, and holy emotion, 
made a profound and happy impression on all 
present. The church was again crowded the next 
night. Among the audience was a considerable 
number of Southerners — wild fellows, who were not 
often seen in such places, among them the enthu- 
siastic Kentuckian already alluded to. Kava- 
naugh, after going through with the preliminary 
services, announced his text, and began his dis- 
course. He seemed not to be in a good preaching 
mood. His wheels drove heavily. Skirmishing 
around and around, he seemed to be reconnoitering 
his subject, finding no salient point for attack. The 
look of eager expectation in the faces of the peo- 
ple gave way to one of puzzled and painful solici- 
tude. The heads of the expectant Southerners 
drooped a little, and the betting Kentuckian be- 
trayed his feelings by a lowering of the uudcr-jaw 



216 California Sketches. 

and sundry nervous twitchings of the muscles of 
his face. The good Bishop kept talking, but the 
wheels revolved slowly. It was a solemn and 
"trying time" to at least a portion of the audience, 
as the Bishop, ^vith head bent over the Bible and 
his broad chest stooped, kept trying to coax a re- 
sponse from that obstinate text. It seemed a lost 
battle. At last a sudden flash of thought seemed 
to strike the speaker, irradiating his face and lift- 
ing his form as he gave it utterance, with a char- 
acteristic throwing back of his shoulders and up- 
ward sweep of his arms. Those present will never 
forget what followed. The afiiatus of the true 
orator had at last fallen upon him ; the mighty 
ship was launched, and sw^ept out to sea under full 
canvas. Old Kentucky was on her feet that night 
in San Jose. It was indescribable. Flashes of 
spiritual illumination, explosive bursts of eloquent 
declamation, sparkles of chastened wit, appeals of 
overwhelming intensity, followed like the thunder 
and lightning of a Southern storm. The church 
seemed literally to rock. "Amens" burst from the 
electrified Methodists of all sorts; these were fol- 
lowed by "halleluiahs" on all sides ; and when the 
sermon ended with a rapturous flight of imagina- 
tion, half the congregation were on their feet, 
shaking hands, embracing one another, and shout- 
ing. In the tremendous religious impression made, 



Bishop Ka va na ugh in Ca lifoknia, 217 

criticism was not thought of. Even the betting 
Kentuckian showed by his heaving breast and 
tearful eyes how far he was borne out of the ordi- 
nary channels of his thought and feeling. 

He came to Sonora, where I was pastor, to preach 
to the miners. It was our second year in (/alifor- 
nia, and the paternal element in his nature fell on 
us like a benediction. He preached three noble 
sermons to full houses in the little church on the 
red hill-side, but his best discourses were spoken to 
the youngs preacher in the tiny parsonage. Catch- 
ing the fire of the old polemics that led to the bat- 
tles of the giants in the West, he went over the 
l^oints of difference between the Arminian and 
Calvinistic schools of theology in a way that left 
a permanent deposit in a mind which was just then 
in its most receptive state. AVe felt very lonesome 
after he had left. It was like a touch of home to 
have him with us then, and in his presence we 
have had the feeling ever since. What a home 
will heaven be where all such men will be gath- 
ered in one company! 

It was a warm day when he went down to take 
the stage for Mariposa. The vehicle seemed to be 
already full of passengers, mostly Mexicans and 
Chinamen. AVhen the portly Bishop presented 
himself, and essayed to enter, there were frowns 
and expressions of dissatisfaction. 



218 California Sketches. 

"Mucho malo!" exclaimed a dark-skinned 
Sefiorita, with flashing black eyes. 

"Make room in there — he's got to go,*^ ordered 
the bluff stage-driver, in a peremptory tone. 

There were already eight passengers inside, and 
the top of the coach was covered as thick as robins 
on a sumac-bush. The Bishop mounted the step 
and surveyed the situation. The seat assigned him 
w'as between two Mexican women, and as he sunk 
into the apparently insufficient space there was a 
look of consternation in their faces — and I was not 
surprised at it. But scrouging in, the new-comer 
smiled, and addressed first one and then another 
of his fellow -passengers with so much friendly 
pleasantness of manner that the frowns cleared 
away from their faces, even the stolid, phlegmatic 
Chinamen brightening up with the contagious good- 
humor of the "big Mellican man." When the 
driver cracked his whip, and the spirited mustangs 
struck off in the California gallop — the early Cali- 
fornians scorned any slower gait — everybody w^as 
smiling. Staging in California in those days was 
often an exciting business. There were " opposi- 
tion" lines on most of the thoroughfares, and the 
driving was furious and reckless in the extreme. 
Accidents were strangely seldom when we consider 
the rate of speed, the nature of the roads, and the 
quantity of bad whisky consumed by most of the 



Bishop Ka van a ugh in Ca lifornia . 21^) 

drivers. Many of these drivers made it a practice 
to drink at every stopping-place. Seventeen drinks 
were counted in one forenoon ride by one of these 
thirsty Jehus. The racing between the rival 
stages was exciting enough. Lashing the wiry 
little horses to full speed, there was but one thought, 
and that was, to "get in ahead." A driver named 
AVhite upset his stage between Montezuma and 
Knight's Ferry on the Stanislaus, breaking his 
right-leg above the knee. Fortunately none of the 
passengers were seriously hurt, though some of 
them were a little bruised and frightened. The 
stage was righted, White resumed the reins, whipped 
his horses into a run, and, with his broken limb 
hanging loose, ran into town ten minutes ahead of 
his rival, fainting as he was lifted from the seat. 

"Old man Holden told me to go in ahead or 
smash every thing, and I made it!" exclaimed 
AVhite, with professional pride. 

The Bishop was fortunate enough to escape with 
unbroken bones as he dashed from point to point 
over the California hills and valleys, though that 
heavy body of his was mightily shaken up on 
many occasions. 

He came to California on his second visit, in 
1863, when the war was raging. An incident oc- 
curred that gave him a very emphatic reminder 
that those were troublous times. 



220 California Sketches. 

He was at a camp-meeting in the San Joaquin 
Valley, near Linden — a place famous for gather- 
ings of this sort. The Bishop was to preach at 
eleven o'clock, and a great crowd was there, full 
of high expectation. A stranger drove up just 
before the hour of service — a broad-shouldered 
man in blue clothes, and wearing a glazed cap. 
He asked to see Bishop Kavanaugh privately for 
a few moments. 

They retired to "the preachers' tent," and the 
stranger said : 

" My name is Jackson — Colonel Jackson, of the 
United States Army. I have a disagreeable duty 
to perform. By order of General McDowell, I am 
to place you under arrest, and take you to San 
Francisco." 

"Can you wait until I preach my sermon?" 
asked the Bishop, good-naturedly; "the people ex- 
pect it, and I do n't want to disappoint them if it 
can be helped." 

"How long will it take you?" 

"Well, I am a little uncertain when I get 
started, but I will try not to be too long." 

"Very well ; go on with your sermon, and if you 
have no objection I will be one of your hearers." 

The secret was known only to the Bishop and 
his captor. The sermon was one of his best — the 
vast crowd of people were mightily moved, and the 



Bishop Ka van a ugh in California. 221 

Colonel's eyes were not dry Avhcn it closed. After 
a prayer, and a song, and a collection, the BishoiD 
stood up again before the people, and said : 

"I have just received a message which makes it 
necessary for me to return to San Francisco imme- 
diately. I am sorry that I cannot remain longer, 
and participate with you in the hallowed enjoy- 
ments of the occasion. The blessing of God be 
with you, my brethren and sisters." 

His manner was so bland, and his tone so serene, 
that nobody had the faintest suspicion as to what 
it was that called him away so suddenly. AVhen 
he drove off with the stranger, the popular surmise 
was that it was a wedding or a funeral that called 
for such haste. These are two events in human 
life that admit of no delays : people must be buried, 
and they will be married. 

The Bishop reported to General Mason, Provost- 
marshal General, and was told to hold himself as 
in duress until further orders, and to be ready to 
appear at head-quarters at short notice when called 
for. He was put on parole, as it were. He came 
down to San Jose and stirred my congregation with 
several of his powerful discourses. In the mean- 
time the arrest had gotten into the newspapers. 
Nothing that happens escapes the California journal- 
ists, and they have even been known to get hold of 
things that never happened at all. It seems that 



222 California Sketches. 

some one in the shape of a man had made an affi- 
davit that Bishop Kavanaugh had come to tlic 
Pacific Coast as a secret agent of the Southern 
Confederacy, to intrigue and recruit in its interest! 
Five minutes' inquiry would have satisfied General 
McDowell of the silliness of such a charge — but 
it was in war times, and he did not stop to make 
the inquiry. In Kentucky the good old Bishop 
had the freedom of the whole land, coming and 
going without hinderance ; but the fact was, he had 
not been within the Confederate lines since the war 
began. To make such an accusation against him 
was the climax of absurdity. 

About three weeks after the date of his arrest, I 
was with the Bishop one morning on our way to 
Judge Moore's beautiful country-seat, near San 
Jose, situated on the far-famed Alameda. The 
carriage was driven by a black man named Henry. 
Passing the post-office, I found, addressed to the 
Bishop in my care, a huge document bearing the 
official stamp of the provost-marshal's office, San 
Francisco. He opened and read it as we drove 
slowly along, and as he did so he brightened up, 
and turning to Henry, said: 

"Henry, were you ever a slave?" 

" Yes, sah ; in Mizzoory," said Henry, showing 
his Avhite teeth. 

"Did you ever get your free-papers?" 



Bishop Ka van a ugh in California. 223 

"Yes, sail — got 'em now." 

" Well, I have got mine — let 's shake hands." 

And the Bishop and Henry had quite a hand- 
shaking over this mutual experience. Henry en- 
joyed it greatly, as his frequent chucklings evinced 
while the Judge's fine bays were trotting along the 
Alameda. 

(I linger on the word Alameda as I write it. It 
is at least one beneficent trace of the early Jesuit 
Fathers who founded the San Jose and Santa Clara 
missions a hundred years ago. They planted an 
avenue of willows the entire three miles, and in 
that rich, moist soil the trees have grown until their 
trunks are of enormous size, and their branches, 
overarching the highway with their dense shade, 
make a drive of unequaled beauty and pleasant- 
ness. The horse-cars have now taken away much 
of its romance, but in the early days it was famous 
for moonlight drives and their concomitants and 
consequences. A long-limbed four-year-old Cali- 
fornia colt gave me a romantic touch of a different 
sort, nearly the last time I was on the Alameda, by 
running away with the buggy, and breaking it and 
me— almost— to pieces. I am reminded of it by 
the pain in my crippled right-shoulder as I write 
these lines in July, 1881. But still I say. Bless- 
ings on the memory of the Fathers who planted 
the willows on the Alameda!) 



224 Califobnia Sketches. 

An iutimation was given the Bishop that if he 
wanted the name of the false -swearer who had 
caused him to be arrested he could have it. 

" No, I do n't want to know his name," said he ; 
" it will do me no good to know it. May God par- 
don his sin, as I do most heartily ! " 

A really strong preacher preaches a great many 
sermons, each of which the hearers claim to be the 
greatest sermon of his life. I have heard of at 
least a half dozen "greatest" sermons by Bascom 
and Pierce, and other noted pulpit orators. But I 
heard one sermon by Kavanaugh that was proba- 
bly indeed his master-effort. It had a history. 
When the Bishop started to Oregon, in 1863, I 
placed in his hands Bascom's Lectures, which, 
strange to say, he had never read. Of these Lect- 
ures the elder Dr. Bond said "they would be the 
colossal pillars of Bascom's fame when his printed 
sermons were forgotten." Those Lectures wonder- 
fully anticipated the changing phases of the mate- 
rialistic infidelity developed since his day, and 
applied to them the reductio ad absurdum with re- 
lentless and resistless power. On his return from 
Oregon, Kavanaugh met and presided over the 
Annual Conference at San Jose. One of his old 
friends, who was troubled with skeptical thoughts 
of the materialistic sort, requested him to preach 
a sermon for his special benefit. This request, and 



Bishop Ka van a ugh in Ca lifobnia. 225 

the previous reading of the Lectures, directed his 
mind to the topic suggested with intense earnest- 
ness. The result was, as I shall always think, the 
sermon of a life-time. The text was. There is a spirit 
in man; and the inspiration of the Almighty giveth 
them understanding. (Job xxxii. 8.) That mighty 
discourse was a demonstration of the truth of the 
affirmation of the text. I will not attempt to repro- 
duce it here, though many of its passages are still 
vivid in my memory. It tore to shreds the sophis- 
tries by which it was sought to sink immortal man 
to the level of the brutes that perish ; it appealed 
to the consciousness of his hearers in red-hot logic 
that burned its way to the inmost depths of the cold- 
est and hardest hearts; it scintillated now and then 
sparkles of wit like the illuminated edges of an 
advancing thunder-cloud ; borne on the wings of 
his imagination, whose mighty sweep took him be- 
yond the bounds of earth, through whirling worlds 
and burning suns, he found the culmination of hu- 
man destiny in the bosom of eternity, infinity, and 
God. The peroration was indescribable. The rapt 
audience reeled under it. Inspiration! the man 
of God was himself its demonstration, for the 
power of his word was not his own. 

"0 1 thank God that he sent me here this day 
to hear that sermon ! I never heard any thing 
like it, and I shall never forget it, or cease to be 
15 



226 Califobnia Sketches, 

thankful that I heard it," said the Rev. Dr. Charles 
Wads worth, of Philadelphia, the great Presbyte- 
rian preacher — a man of genius, and a true prose- 
poet, as any one will concede after reading his 
published sermons. As he spoke, the tears were 
in his eyes, the muscles of his face quivering, and 
his chest heaving with irrepressible emotion. No- 
body who heard that discourse will accuse me of 
too high coloring in this brief description of it. 

"Don't you wish you were a Kentuckian?" was 
the enthusiastic exclamation of a lady who brought 
from Kentucky a matchless wit and the culture 
of Science Hill Academy, which has blessed and 
brightened so many homes from the Ohio to the 
Sacramento. 

I think the Bishop was present on another occa- 
sion when the compliment he received was a left- 
handed one. It was at the Stone Church in Sui- 
sun Valley. The Bishop and a number of the 
most prominent ministers of the Pacific Conference 
were present at a Saturday-morning preaching aj)- 
pointment. They had all been engaged in pro- 
tracted labors, and, beginning with the Bishop, one 
after another declined to preach. The lot fell at 
last upon a boyish-looking brother of very small 
stature, who labored under the double disadvan- 
tage of being a very young preacher, and of hav- 
ing been reared in the immediate vicinity. The 



Bishop Ka va na ugh in Ca lifornia . 227 

people were disappointed and iudignaDt when they 
saw the little fellow go into the pulpit. None 
showed their displeasure more plainly than Uncle 
Ben Brown, a somewhat eccentric old brother, who 
was one of the founders of that Society, and one 
of its best official members. He sat as usual on a 
front seat, his thick eyebrows fiercely knit, and 
his face wearing a heavy frown. He had expected 
to hear the Bishop, and this was what it had come 
to! He drew his shoulders sullenly down, and, 
Avith his eyes bent upon the floor, nursed his wrath. 
The little preacher began his sermon, and soon 
astonished everybody by the energy with which he 
spoke. As he proceeded, the frown on Uncle Ben's 
face relaxed a little; at length he lifted his eyes 
and glanced at the speaker in surprise. He did 
not think it was in him. With abnormal fluency 
and force, the little preacher went on with the in- 
creasing sympathy of his audience, who were feel- 
ing the effects of a generous reaction in his favor. 
Uncle Ben, touched a little with honest obstinacy 
as he was, gradually relaxed in the sternness of 
his looks, straightening up by degrees until he sat 
upright facing the speaker in a sort of half-reluc- 
tant, pleased wonder. Just at the close of a spe- 
cially vigorous burst of declamation, the old man 
exclaimed, in a loud voice: 

" Bless God ! he uses the weah ihu)(j>< of this world 



228 California Sketches. 

to confound the migJiti/ f " casting around a triumph- 
ant glance at the Bishop and other preachers. 

This impromptu remark was more amusing to 
the hearers than helpful to the preacher, I fear; 
but it was a way the dear old brother had of speak- 
in o- out in meetino-. 

I must end this Sketch. I have dipped my pen 
in my heart in writing it. The subject of it has 
been friend, brother, father, to me since the day he 
looked in upon us in the little cabin on the hill in 
Sonora, in 1855. When I. greet him on the hills 
of heaven, he will not be sorry to be told that 
among the many in the far West to whom he was 
helpful was the writer of this too imperfect Sketch. 



SANDEKS. 



HE belonged to the Church militant. In looks 
he was a cross between a grenadier and a 
Trappist. But there was more soldier than monk 
in his nature. He was over six feet high, thin as 
a bolster, and straight as a long-leaf pine. His 
anatomy was strongly conspicuous. He was the 
boniest of men. There were as many angles as 
inches in the lines of his face. His hair dis- 
dained the persuasions of comb or brush, and 
rose in tangled masses above a head that would 
have driven a phrenologist mad. It was a long 
head in every sense. His features were strong 
and stern, his nose one that would have delighted 
the great Napoleon — it was a grand organ. 
You said at once, on looking at him. Here is a 
man that fears neither man nor devil. The face 
was an honest face. When you looked into those 
keen, dark eyes, and read the lines of that stormy 
countenance, you felt that it would be equally 

(229) 



230 California Sketches. 

impossible for him to tell a lie or to fear the face 
of man. 

This was John Sanders, one of the early Cali- 
fornia Methodist preachers. He went among the 
first to preach the gospel to the gold-hunters. He 
got a hearing where some failed. His sincerity and 
brain-power commanded attention, and his pluck en- 
forced respect. In one case it seemed to be needed. 

He was sent to preach in Placerville, popularly 
called in the old days, "Hangtown." It was then 
a lively and populous place. The mines were rich, 
and gold-dust was abundant as good behavior was 
scarce. The one church in the town was a "union 
church," and it was occupied by Sanders and a 
preacher of another sect on alternate Sundays. 
All went well for many months, and if there were 
no sinners converted in that camp, the few saints 
were at peace. It so happened that Sanders was 
called away for a week or two, and on his return 
he found that a new preacher had been sent to the 
place, and that he had made an appointment to 
preach on his (Sanders's) regular day. Having 
no notion of yielding his rights, Sanders also in- 
serted a notice in the papers of the town that he 
would preach at the same time and place. The 
thing was talked about in the town and vicinity, 
and there was a buzz of excitement. The miners, 
always ready for a sensation, became interested, 



Sandebs. 231 

aud when Sunday came the church coukl not hokl 
the crowd. The strange preacher arrived first, en- 
tered the pulpit, knelt a few moments in silent de- 
votion, according to custom, and then sat and sur- 
veyed the audience which was surveying him with 
curious interest. He was a tall, fine-looking man, 
almost the equal of Sanders in height, and superior 
to him in weight. He was a Kentuckian origi- 
nally, but went from Ohio to California, and was a 
full-grown man, of the best Western physical type. 
In a little while Sanders entered the church, made 
his way through the dense crowd, ascended the 
pulpit, cast a sharp glance at the intruder, and sat 
down. There was a dead silence. The two preach- 
ers gazed at the congregation ; the congregation 
gazed at the preachers. A pin might have been 
heard to fall. Sanders was as imperturbable as a 
statue, but his lips were pressed together tightly, 
and there was a blaze in his eyes. The strange 
preacher showed signs of nervousness, moving his 
hands and feet, and turning this way and that in 
his seat. It was within five minutes of the time for 
opening the service. The stranger rose, and w^as in 
the act of taking hold of the Bible that lay on the 
cushion in front of him, wdien Sanders rose to his 
full height, stepped in front of him, and darting 
lightning from his eyes as he looked him full in 
the face, said : 



232 California Sketches, 

" I preach here to-day, sir ! " 

That settled it. There was no mistaking that 
look or tone. The tall stranger muttered an in- 
articulate protest and subsided. Sanders proceeded 
with the service, making no allusion to the diffi- 
culty until it was ended. Then he proposed a 
meeting of the citizens the next evening to adju- 
dicate the case. The proposal was acceded to. 
The church was again crowded ; and though eccle- 
siastically Sanders was in the minority, with the 
genuine love for fair-play which is a trait of Anglo- 
Saxon character, he was sustained by an over- 
whelming majority. It is likely, too, that his 
plucky bearing the day before made him some 
votes. A preacher who would fight for his rights 
suited those wild fellows better than one who would 
assert a claim that he would not enforce. Sanders 
preached to larger audiences after this episode in 
his "Hangtown" pastorate. 

It was after this that he wTnt out one day to 
stake off a lot on ^Yhich he proposed to build a 
house of worship. It was near the Roman Catho- 
lic Church. A zealous Irishman, who was a little 
more than half drunk, was standing by. Evident- 
ly he did not like any such heretical movements, 
and, after Sanders had placed the stake in the 
earth, the Hibernian stepped forward and pulled 
it up. 



Saxdehs. 2'i3 

"I put the stake back in its place. He pulled 
it up agaiu. I put it back. He pulled it up 
again. I put it back once more. He got fiery 
mad by this time, and started at me with an ax in 
his hand. I had an ax in my hand, and as its 
handle was longer than his, I cut him down.'" 

The poor fellow had waked up the fighting 
preacher, and fell before the sweep of Sanders's ax. 
He dodged as the weapon descended, and saved 
his life by doing so. He got an ugly wound on 
the shoulder, and kept his bed for many weeks. 
When he rose fr(;m his bed he had a profound re- 
gard for Sanders, whose grit excited his admira- 
tion. There was not a particle of resentment in 
his generous Irish heart. He became a sober man, 
and it was afterward a current i)leasantry among 
the "boys" that he was converted by the use of 
the carnal weapon wielded by that spunky parson. 
Nobody blamed Sanders for his part in the matter. 
It was a fair fight, and he had the right on his 
side. Had he show^n the wdiite feather, that would 
have damaged him .with a community in whose 
estimation courage was the cardinal virtue. San- 
ders was popular with all classes, and Placerville 
remembers him to this day. He was no rose-water 
divine, but thundered the terrors of the law into 
the ears of those wild fellows with the boldness of 
a John the Baptist. Many a sinner quaked under 



234 California IS ketches. 

his steru logic and fiery appeals, and some re- 
pented. 

I shall never forget a sermon he preached at 
San Jose. He was in bad health, and his mind 
was morbid and gloomy. His text was, Who 
hath hardened himself against him, and hath pros- 
pered f (Job ix. 4.) The thought that ran through 
the discourse was the certainty that retribution 
would overtake the guilty. God's law will be up- 
held. It protects the righteous, but must crush 
the disobedient. He swept away the sophisms 
by which men persuade themselves that they can 
escape the penalty of violated law ; and it seemed 
as if we could almost hear the crash of the tum- 
bling wrecks of hopes built on false foundations. 
God Almighty was visible on the throne of his 
power, armed with the seven thunders of his 
wrath. 

"AVho hath defied God and escaped?" he de- 
manded, with flashing eyes and trumpet voice. 
And then he recited the histories of nations and 
men that had made the fatal experiment, and the 
doom that had whelmed them in utter ruin. 

"And yet you hope to escape!" he thundered 
to the silent and awe-struck men and women be- 
fore him. "You expect that God will abrogate 
Ills law to |)lease you; that lie will tear down the 
])illars of his moral government that you may be 



Saxdebs. 235 

saved in your sins! O fools, fools, fools! there is 
no place but hell for such a folly as this!" 

His haggard face, the stern solemnity of his 
voice, the sweep of his long arms, the gleam of his 
deep-set eyes, and the vigor of his inexorable logic, 
drove that sermon home to the listeners. 

He was the keenest of critics, and often merci- 
less. He was present at a camp-meeting near San 
Jose, but too feeble to preach. I was there, and 
disabled from the effects of the California poison- 
oak. That deceitful shrub! Its jDink leaves smile 
at you as pleasantly as sin, and, like sin, it leaves 
its sting. The "preachers' tent" was immediately 
in the rear of "the stand," and Sanders and I lay 
inside and listened to the sermons. He was in one 
of his caustic moods, and his comments were racy 
enough, though not helpful to devotion. 

"There! he yelled, clapped his hands, stamped, 
and — said nothing ! " 

The criticism was just: the brother in the stand 
was making a great noise, but there was not much 
meaning in what he said. 

" He made one point only — a pretty good apol- 
ogy for Lazarus's poverty." 

This was said at the close of an elaborate dis- 
course on "The Rich Man and Lazarus," by a 
brother who sometimes got " in the brush." 

"He isn't touching his text — he knows no 



236 Califobxia Sketches. 

more theology than a guinea-pig. Words, words, 
words ! " 

This last criticism was directed against a timid 
young divine, who was badly frightened, but who 
has since shown that there was good metal in him. 
If he had known what was going on just behind 
him, he would have colla})sed entirely in that ten- 
tative effort at preaching the gospel. 

Sanders kept up this running fire of criticism at 
every service, cutting to the bone at every blow, 
and giving me new light on homiletics, if he did 
not promote my enjoyment of the preaching. He 
had read largely and thought deeply, and his in- 
cisive intellect had no patience with what was fee- 
ble or pointless. 

Disease settled upon his lungs, and he rapidly 
declined. His strong frame grew thinner and thin- 
ner, and his mind alternated between moods of 
morbid bitterness and transient buoyancy. As the 
end approached, his bitter moods were less frequent, 
and an unwonted tenderness came into his words 
and tones. He went to the Lokonoma Springs, in 
the hills of Napa county, and in their solitudes he 
adjusted himself to the great change that was 
drawing near. The capacious blue sky that arched 
above him, the sighing of the gentle breeze through 
the solemn pines, the repose of the encircling 
mountains, bright with sunrise, or purpling in the 



Sandebs. 237 

twilight, distilled the soothing influences of nature 
into his spirit, and there was a great calm within. 
Beyond those California hills the hills of God rose 
in their supernal beauty before the vision of his 
faith, and when the summons came for him one 
midnight, his soul leaped to meet it in a ready and 
joyous response. On a white marble slab, at the 
*' Stone Church," in Suisun Valley, is this inscrip- 
tion : 

Kev. John Sanders. 

Many are the afflictions of the rigliteous, but the Lord de- 
li vereth him out of them aU. 

The spring flowers were blooming on the grave 
when I saw it last. 



A DAY. 



AH, that blessed, blessed day! I had gone to 
the White Sulphur Springs, in Napa County, 
to get relief from the effects of the California poi- 
son-oak. Gay deceiver! With its tender green 
and pink leaves, it looks as innocent and smiling as 
sin when it woos youth and ignorance. Like sin, 
it is found everywhere in that beautiful land. 
Many antidotes are used, but the only sure way of 
dealing with it is to keep away from it. Again, 
there is an analogy: it is easier to keep out of sin 
than to get out when caught. These soft, pure white 
sulphur waters work miracles of healing, and at- 
tract all sorts of people. The weary and broken- 
down man of business comes here to sleep, and eat, 
and rest; the woman of fashion, to dress and flirt; 
the loudly-dressed and heavily-bejeweled gambler, 
to ply his trade; happy bridal couples, to have the 
world to themselves; successful and unsuccessful 
politicians, to plan future triumphs or brood over 
(238) 



A Day. 239 

defeats ; pale and trembling invalids, to seek heal- 
ing or a brief respite from the grave ; families es- 
caping from the wind and fog of the bay, to spend 
a few weeks where they can find sunshine and 
quiet — it is a little world in itself. The spot is 
every way beautiful, but its chief charm is its iso- 
lation. Though within a few hours' ride of San 
Francisco, and only two miles from a railroad-sta- 
tion, you feel as if you were in the very heart of 
nature — and so you are. Winding along the banks 
of a sparkli }g stream, the mountains — great masses 
of leafy green — rise abruptly on either hand ; the 
road bends this way and that until a sudden turn 
brings you to a little valley hemmed in all around 
by the giant hills. A bold, rocky projection just 
above the main hotel gives a touch of ruggedness 
and grandeur to the scene. How delicious the feel- 
ing of rest that comes over you at once ! — the world 
shut out, the hills around, and the sky above. 

It was in 1863, when the civil war was at its 
white heat. Circumstances had given me unde- 
sired notoriety in that connection. I had been 
thrust into the very vortex of its passion, and my 
name made the rallying-cry of opposing elements 
in California. The guns of Manassas, Cedar 
Mountain, and the Chickahominy, were echoed in 
the foot-hills of the Sierras, and in the peaceful 
-valleys of the far-away Pacific Coast. The good 



240 California Sketches, 

seuse of a practical people prevented any flagrant 
outbreak on a large scale, but here and there a too 
ardent Southerner said or did something that gave 
him a few weeks' or months' duress at Fort Alca- 
traz, and the honors of a bloodless martyrdom. 
I was then living at North Beach, in full sight of 
that fortress. It was kindly suggested by several 
of my brother editors that it would be a good place 
for me. When, as my eye swept over the bay in 
the early morning, the first sight that met my gaze 
was its rocky ramparts and bristling guns, the 
poet's line would come to mind : " 'T is distance 
lends enchantment to the view." I was just as 
close as I wanted to be. " I have good quarters 
for you," said the brave and courteous Captain 
McDougall, who was in command at the fort ; " and 
knowing your penchant, I will let you have the 
freedom of a sunny corner of the island for fishing 
in good weather." The true soldier is sometimes 
a true gentleman. 

The name and image of another Federal officer 
rise before me as I write. It is that of the heroic 
soldier, General Wright, who went down with the 
"Brother Jonathan," on the Oregon coast, in 1865. 
He was in command of the Department of the 
Pacific during this stormy period of which I am 
speaking. I had never seen him, and I had no 
special desire to make his acquaintance. Some- 



A Day. 241 

how Fort Alcatraz had become associated with 
his name for reasons already intimated. But, 
though unsought by me, an interview did take 
place. 

"It has come at last!" was my exclamation as 
I read the note left by an orderly in uniform noti- 
fying me that I was expected to re])ort at the quar- 
ters of the commanding-general the next day at 
ten o'clock. Conscious of my innocence of treason 
or any other crime against the Government or so- 
ciety, my pugnacity was roused by this summons. 
Before the hour set for my appearance at the mih 
itary head-quarters, I was ready for martyrdom or 
any thing else — except Alcatraz. I did n't like 
that. The island was too small, and too foggy and 
windy, for my taste. I thought it best to obey the 
order I had received, and so, punctually at the 
hour, I repaired to the head-quarters on Washing- 
ton Street, and ascending the steps with a firm _ 
tread and defiant feeling, I entered the room. 
General Mason, provost -marshal, a scholar and 
polished gentleman, politely offered me a seat. 

" No ; I prefer to stand," I said stiffly. 

"The General will see you in a few minutes," 
said he, resuming his work, while I stood nursing 
ray indignation and sense of wrong. 

In a little while General Wright entered — a tall 
and striking figure, silver-haired, blue-eyed, ruddy- 
IG 



242 Califobnia Sketches. 

faced, with a mixture of the dash of the soldier 
and the benignity of a bishop. 

Declining also his cordial invitation to be seated, 
I stood and looked at him, still nursing defiance, 
and getting ready to wear a martyr's crown. The 
General spoke : 

" Did you know, sir, that I am perhaps the most 
attentive reader of your paper to be found in Cal- 
ifornia?" 

" No ; I was not aware that I had the honor of 
numbering the commanding-general of this depart- 
ment among my readers." (This was spoken with 
severe dignity.) 

"A lot of hot-heads have for sometime been urg- 
ing me to have you arrested on the ground that 
you are editing and publishing a disloyal newspa- 
per. Not wishing to do any injustice to a fellow- 
man, I have taken means every week to obtain a 
copy of your paper, the Pacific Methodist; and al- 
low me to say, sir, that no paper has ever come 
into my family which is such a favorite with all 
of us." 

I bowed, feeling that the spirit of martyrdom 
was cooling Avithin me. The General continued : 

"I have sent for you, sir, that I might say to 
you, Go on in your present prudent and manly 
course, and while I command this department you 
are as safe as I am." 



A Day. 243 

There I stood, a whipped man, my pugnacity 
all gone, and the martyr's crown away out of my 
reach. I walked softly down-stairs, after bidding 
the General an adieu in a manner in marked con- 
trast to that in which I had greeted him at the be- 
ginning of the interview. Now that it is all over, 
and the ocean winds have wailed their dirges for 
him so many long years, I would pay a humble 
tribute to the memory of as brave and knightly a 
man as ever wore epaulettes or fought under the 
stars and stripes. He was of the type of Sidney 
Johnston, who fell at Shiloh, and of McPherson, 
who fell at Kennesaw — all Californiaus ; all Amer- 
icans, true soldiers, who had a sword for the foe in 
fair fight in the open field, and a shield for woman, 
and for the non-combatant, the aged, the defense- 
less. They fought on different sides to settle for- 
ever a quarrel that was bequeathed to their gener- 
ation, but their fame is the common inheritance of 
the American peoi^le. The reader is beginning to 
think I am digressing, but he will better under- 
stand Avhat is to come after getting this glimpse of 
those stormy days in the sixties. 

The guests at the Springs were about equally 
divided in their sectional sympathies. The gen- 
tlemen were inclined to avoid all exciting discus- 
sions, but the ladies kept up a fire of small-arms. 
When the mails came in, and the latest news was 



244 California Sketches, 

read, comments were made with flasliiug eyes and 
flushed cheeks. 

The Sabbath morning dawned without a cloud. 
I awoke with the earliest song of the birds, and 
was out before the first rays of the sun had touched 
the mountain-tops. The coolness was delicious, and 
the air was filled with the sweet odors of aromatic 
shrubs and flowers, with a hint of the pine-forests 
and balsam -thickets from the higher altitudes. 
Taking a breakfast solus, pocket-bible in hand I 
bent my steps up the gorge, often crossing the 
brook that wound its way among the thickets or 
sung its song at the foot of the great overhanging 
cliffs. A shining trout would now and then flash 
like a silver bar for a moment above the shaded 
pools. With light step a doe descending the 
mountain came upon me, and, gazing at me a mo- 
ment or two with its soft eyes, tripped away. In 
a narrow pass where the stream rippled over the 
pebbles between two great walls of rock, a spotted 
snake crossed my path, hurrying its movement in 
fright. Fear not, humble ophidian. The war de- 
clared between thee and me in the fifteenth verse 
of the third chapter of Genesis is suspended for 
this one day. Let no creature die to-day but by 
the act of God. Here is the lake. How beautiful ! 
how still! Aland-slide had dammed the stream 
where it flowed between steep, lofty banks, back- 



A Day. 245 

ing the waters over a little valley three or four 
acres in extent, shut in on all sides by the wooded 
hills, the highest of which rose from its northern 
margin. Here is my sanctuary, pulpit, choir, and 
altar. A gigantic pine had fallen into the lake, 
and its larger branches served to keep the trunk 
above the water as it lay parallel with the shore. 
Seated on its trunk, and shaded by some friendly 
willows that stretch their graceful branches above, 
the hours pass in a sort of subdued ecstasy of en- 
joyment. It is peace, the peace of God. No echo 
of the world's discords reaches me. The only 
sound I hear is the cooing of a turtle-dove away 
off" in a distant gorge of the mountain. It floats 
down to me on the Sabbath air with a pathos as if 
it voiced the pity of Heaven for the sorrows of a 
world of sin, and pain, and death. The shadows 
of the pines are reflected in the pellucid depths, 
and ever and anon the faintest hint of a breeze 
sighs among their branches overhead. The lake 
lies without a ripple below, except when from time 
to time a gleaming trout throws himself out of the 
water, and, falling with a splash, disturbs the 
glassy surface, the concentric circles showing where 
he went down. Sport on, ye shiny denizens of the 
deep ; no angler shall cast his deceitful hook into 
your quiet haunts this day. Through the foliage 
of the overhanging boughs the blue sky is spread, 



246 California Sketches. 

a thin, fleecy cloud at times floating slowly along 
like a watching angel, and casting a momentary 
shadow upon the watery mirror below. That sky, 
so deep and so solemn, woos me — lifts my thought 
till it touches the Eternal. What mysteries of 
being lie beyond that sapphire sea? What won- 
ders shall burst upon the vision when this mortal 
shall put on immortality? I open the Book and 
read. Isaiah's burning song makes new music to 
my soul attuned. David's harp sounds a sweeter 
note. The words of Jesus stir to diviner depths. 
And when I read in the twenty-first chapter of 
Kevelation the Apocalyptic promise of the new 
heavens and the new earth, and of the Kew Jeru- 
salem coming down from God out of heaven, a new 
glory seems to rest upon sky, mountain, forest, and 
lake, and my soul is flooded with a mighty joy. I 
am swimming in the Infinite Ocean. Not beyond 
that vast blue canopy is heaven ; it is within my 
own ravished heart! Thus the hours pass, but I 
keep no note of their flight, and the evening shad- 
ows are on the water before I come back to myself 
and the world. O hallowed day! O hallowed 
spot! foretaste and proj^hecy to the weary and 
burden-bowed soul of the new heavens and the 
new earth where its blessed ideal shall be a more 
blessed reality! 

It is nearly dark when I get back to the hotel. 



A Day. 247 

Supper is over, but I am not hungry — I have 
feasted on the bread of angels. 

"Did you know there was quite a quarrel about 
you this morning?" asks one of the guests. 

The words jar. In answer to my look of inquiry, 
he proceeds : 

"There was a dispute about your holding a re- 
ligious service at the picnic grounds. They made 
it a political matter — one party threatened to leave 
if you did preach, the other threatened to leave if 
you did not preach. There was quite an excite- 
ment about it until it was found that you were 
gone, and then everybody quieted down." 

There is a silence. I break it by telling them 
how I spent the day, and then they are very quiet. 

The next Sabbath every soul at the place united 
in a request for a religious service, the list headed 
by a high-spirited and brilliant Pennsylvania 
lady who had led the opposing forces the previous 
Sunday. 



WINTER-BLOSSOMED. 



I THINK I saw him the first Sunday I preached 
in San Jose, in 1856. He was a notable-look- 
ir.g man. I felt attracted toward him by that in- 
definable sympathy that draws together two souls 
born to be friends. I believe in friendship at first 
sight. Who that ever had a real friend does not? 
Love at first sight is a different tiling — it may be 
divine and eternal, or it may be a whim or a pass- 
ing fancy. Passion blurs and blinds in the region 
of sexual love: friendship is revealed in its own 
white light. 

I was introduced after the service to the stranger 
who had attracted my attention, and who had 
given the youthful preacher such a kind and 
courteous hearing. 

"This is Major McCoy." 

He was a full head higher than anybody else as 
he stood in the aisle. He bowed with courtly grace 
as he took my hand, and his face lighted with a 
(248) 



] VlNTEll-IiLOSSOMED. 249 

smile that had in it something more than a con- 
ventional civility. I felt that there was a soul be- 
neath that dignified and courtly exterior. His 
head displayed great elevation of the cranium, and 
unusual breadth of forehead. It was what is called 
an intellectual head; and the lines around the 
eyes showed the traces of thought, and, as it seemed 
to me, a tinge of that sadness that nearly always 
lends its charm to the best faces. 

" I have met a man that I know I shall like,'* 
was my gratified exclamation to the mistress of the 
parsonage, as I entered. 

And so it turned out. He became one of the 
select circle to whom I applied the word friend in 
the sacredest sense. This inner circle can never 
be large. If you unduly enlarge it you dilute the 
quality of this wine of life. We are limited. 
There is only One Heart large enough to hold all 
humanity in its inmost depths. 

My new friend lived out among the sycamores 
on the New Almaden Road, a mile from the city, 
and the cottage in which he lived with his cultured 
and loving household was one of the social para- 
dises of that beautiful valley in which the breezes 
are always cool, and the flowers never fade. 

My friend interested me more and more. He 
had been a soldier, and in the Mexican war won 
distinction by his skill and valor. He was with 



250 California Sketches. 

Joe Lane and his gallant Indianians at Juamant- 
la, and his name was specially mentioned among 
those whose fiery onsets had broken the lines of 
the swarthy foe, and won against such heavy odds 
the bloody field. He was seldom absent from 
cluirch on Sunday morning, and now and then his 
in(|uiring, thoughtful face would be seen in my 
smaller audience at night. One unwelcome fact 
about him pained me, while it deepened my inter- 
est in him. 

He was a skeptic. Bred to the profession of 
medicine and surgery, he became bogged in the 
depths of materialistic doubt. The microscope 
drew his thoughts downward until he could not see 
beyond second causes. The soul, the seat of which 
the scalpel could not find, he feared did not exist. 
The action of the brain, like that of the heart and 
lungs, seemed to him to be functional ; and when 
the organ perished did not its function cease for- 
ever? He doubted the fact of immortality, but 
did not deny it. This doubt clouded his life. He 
wanted to believe. His heart rebelled against the 
negations of materialism, but his intellect was en- 
tangled in its meshes. The Great Question was 
ever in his thought, and the shadow was ever on 
his path. He read much on both sides, and was 
always ready to talk with any from whom he had 
reason to hope for new light or a helpful sugges- 



Winter-blossomed. 261 

tion. Did be also pray? Wc took many long 
rides and had many long talks together. Pausing 
under the shade of a tree on the highway, the hours 
would slip away while we talked of life and death, 
and weighed the pros and cons of the mighty hope 
that we might live again, until the sun would be 
sinking into the sea behind the Santa Cruz Mount- 
ains, whose shadows were creeping over the valley. 
He believed in a First Cause. The marks of de- 
sign in Nature left in his mind no room to doubt 
that there was a Designer. 

"The structure and adaptations of the horse 
harnessed to the buggy in which we sit, exhibit the 
infinite skill of a Creator." 

On this basis I reasoned with him in behalf of 
all that is precious to Christian faith and hope, 
trying to show (what I earnestly believe) that, ad- 
mitting the existence of God, it is illogical to 
stop short of a belief in revelation and immor- 
tality. 

The rudest workman would not fling 
The fragments of Ins work away, 
If every useless bit of clay 

lie trod on were a sentient thing. 

And does the Wisest Worker take 

Quick human licarts, instead of stone, 
And liew and carve them one by one, 

Nor heed the pangs with which they break? 



252 California Sketches. 

And more: if but creation's -waste, 

Would lie have given us sense to yearn 
For the perfection none can earn, 

And hope the fuller life to taste? 

I think, if we must cease to be, 

It is cruelty refined 

To make the instincts of our mind 
Stretch out toward eternity. 

Wherefore I welcome Nature's cry, 
As earnest of a life again, 
Where thought shall never be in vain. 

And doubt before the light shall fly. 

]My talks with him were hel})fiil to me if n<it to 
him. In trying to remove his doubts my own faith 
was confirmed, and my range of thought enlarged. 
His reverent spirit left its impress upon mine. 

" JMcCoy is a more religious man than either you 
or I, Doctor," said Tod Robinson to me one day in 
reply to a remark in wdiicli I had given expression 
to my solicitude for my doubting friend. 

Yes, strange as it may seem, this man who wres- 
tled wuth doubts that wrung his soul with intense 
agony, and walked in darkness under the veil of 
unbelief, had a healthful influence upon me be- 
cause the attitude of his soul was that of a rev- 
erent inquirer, not that of a scoffer. 

The admirable little treatise of Bishop Mcllvaine, 
on the "Evidences of Christianity," cleared away 



Winter-blossomed. 263 

some of his difficulties. A sermon of Bishop Kav- 
anaugh, preached at his request, was a help to him. 
(That wonderful discourse is spoken of elsewhere 
in this volume.) 

A friend of his lay dying at Redwood City. 
This friend, like himself, was a skejitic, and his 
douhts darkened his way as he neared the border 
of the undiscovered country. McCoy went to see 
him. The sick man, in the freedom of long friend- 
ship, opened his mind to him. The arguments of 
the good Bishop were yet fresh in McCoy's mind, 
and the echoes of his mighty appeals were still 
sounding in his heart. Seated by the dying man, 
he forgot his own misgivings, and with intense 
earnestness pointed the struggling soul to the Sav- 
iour of sinners. 

"I did not intend it, but I was impelled by a 
feeling I could not resist. I was surprised and 
strangely thrilled at my own Avords as I unfolded 
to my friend the proofs of the truth of Christian- 
ity, culminating in the incarnation, death, and 
resurrection, of Jesus Christ. He seemed to have 
grasped the truths as presented, a great calm came 
over him, and he died a believer. No incident of 
my life has given me a purer pleasure than this ; 
but it was a strange thing! Nobody could have 
had access to him as I had — I, a doubter and a 
stumbler all my life : it looks like the hand of God ! " 



254 California Sketches. 

His voice was low, and his eyes were wet as he 
finished the narration. 

Yes, the hand of God was in it — it is in every 
good thing that takes pLace on earth. By the bed- 
side of a dying friend, the undercurrent of faith 
in his warm and noble heart swept away for the 
time the obstructions that were in his thought, and 
bore him to the feet of the blessed, pitying Christ, 
who never breaks a bruised reed. I think he had 
more light, and felt stronger ever after. 

Death twice entered his home-circle — once to 
convey a budding flower from the earth-home to 
the skies, and again like a lightning-stroke laying 
young manhood low in a moment. The instinct 
"within him, stronger than doubt, turned his thought 
in those dark hours toward God. The ashes of the 
earthly hopes that had perished in the fire of fierce 
calamity, and the tears of a grief unspeakable, 
fertilized and watered the seed of faith which was 
surely in his heart. The hot furnace-fire did not 
harden this finely -tempered soul. But still he 
Avalked in darkness, doubting, doubting, doubting 
all he most wished to believe. It was the infirmity 
of his constitution, and the result of his surround- 
ings. He went into large business enterprises with 
mingled success and disappointment. He went 
into politics, and though he bore himself nobly 
and gallantlv, it need not be said that tliat vortex 



Winter-blossomed. 255 

does not usually draw those who are within its 
whirl heavenward. He won some of the prizes 
that were fought for in that arena where the no- 
blest are in danger of being soiled, and where the 
baser metal sinks surely to the bottom by the inev- 
itable force of moral gravitation. 

From time to time we were thrown together, and 
I was glad to know that the Great Question was 
still in his thought, and the hunger for truth was 
still in his heart. Ill health sometimes made him 
irritable and morbid, but the drift of his inner 
nature was unchanged. His mind was enveloped 
in mists, and sometimes tempests of despair raged 
within him; but his heart stilJ thirsted for the 
water of life. 

A painful and almost fatal railway accident be- 
fell him. He was taken to his ranch among the 
quiet hills of Shasta County. This was the final 
crisis in his life. Shut out from the world, and 
shut in with his own thoughts and with God, he 
reviewed his life and the argument that had so 
long been going on in his mind. He was now 
quiet enough to hear distinctly the Still Small 
Voice whose tones he could only half discern amid 
the clamors of the world when he was a busy actor 
on its stage. Nature spoke to him among the hills, 
and her voice is God's. The great primal instincts 
of the soul, repressed in the crowd or driven into 



256 



California Sketches. 



the background by the mob of petty cares and 
wants, now had free play in the nature of this man 
whose soul had so long cried out of the depths for 
the living God. He prayed the simple prayer of 
trust at which the gate flies open for the believing 
soul to enter into the peace of God. He was born 
into the new life. The flower that had put forth 
its abortive buds for so many seasons, burst into 
full bloom at last. With the mighty joy in his 
heart, and the light of the immortal hope beaming 
upon him, he passed into the World of Certainties. 




ininnTTM ni"i '"m 



A VIRGINIAN IN CALIFORNIA. 



T T ARD at it, are you, uncle? " 



" No, sah — I 's workin' by de day, an' I 
an't a-hurtin' myself." 

This answer was given with a jolly laugh as the 
old man leaned on his pick and looked at me. 

"You looked so much like home-folks that I felt 
like speaking to you. Where are you from?" 

" From Virginny, sah ! " (pulling himself up to 
his full height as he spoke). " Where 's you from, 
Massa?" 

"I was brought up partly in Virginia too." 

" Whar'bouts in Virginny?" 

"Mostly in Lynchburg." 

"Lynchburg! dat'swhar I was fotched up. I 
belonged to de Widder Tate, dat lived on de New 
London Road. Gib me yer han', Massa!" 

He rushed up to the buggy, and taking my ex- 
tended hand in his huge fist he shook it heartily, 
grinning w'ith delight. 

17 (257) 



258 California Sketches. 

This was Uncle Joe, a perfect specimen of the 
old Virginia " Uncle," who had found his way to 
California in the early days. Yes, he was a per- 
fect specimen — black as night, his lower limbs 
crooked, arms long, hands and feet very large. 
His mouth was his most striking feature. It was 
the orator's mouth in size, being larger than that 
of Henry Clay — in fact, it ran almost literally 
from ear to ear. When he opened it fully, it was 
like lifting the lid of a box. 

Uncle Joe and I became good friends at once. 
He honored my ministry with his presence on Sun- 
days. There was a touch of dandyism in him that 
then and there came out. Clad in a blue broad- 
cloth dress-coat of the olden cut, vest to match, 
tight -fitting pantaloons, stove -pipe hat, and yel- 
low kid gloves, he was a gorgeous object to be- 
hold. He knew it, and there was a pleasant self- 
consciousness in the way he bore himself in the 
sanctuary. 

Uncle Joe was the heartiest laugher I ever 
knew. He w^as always as full of happy life as a 
frisky colt or a plump pig. When he entered a 
knot of idlers on the streets, it was the signal for 
a humorous uproar. His quaint sayings, witty 
repartee, and contagious laughter, never failed. 
He was as agile as a monkey, and his dancing was 
a marvel. For a dime he would "cut the pigeon- 



A Virginian in Califobnia. 259 

wing," or give a "double-shuffle" or "breakdown" 
in a way that made the beholder dizzy. 

What was Uncle Joe's age nobody could guess — 
he had passed the line of probable surmising. His 
own version of the matter on a certain occasion 
was^ curious. We had a colored female servant — 
an old-fashioned aunty from Mississippi — who, with 
a bandanna handkerchief on her head, went about 
the house sino-ino; the old Methodist choruses so 
naturally that it gave us a home-feeling to have 
her about us. Uncle Joe and Aunt Tishy became 
good friends, and he got into the habit of dro2:>ping 
in at the jDarsonage on Sunday evenings to escort 
her to church. On this particular occasion I was 
in the little study adjoining the dining-room where 
Aunt Tishy was engaged in cleaning away the 
dishes after tea. I was not eavesdropping, but 
could not help hearing what they said. My name 
was mentioned. 

"O yes," said Uncle Joe; "I knowed Massa 
Fitchjarals back dar in Virginny. I use ter hear 
Mm preach dar when I was a boy." 

There was a silence. Aunt Tishy could n't 
swallow that. Uncle Joe's statement, if true, 
would have made me more than a hundred years 
old, or brought him down to less than forty. The 
latter was his object; he wanted to impress Aunt 
Tishv with the idea that he was vouns; enouoh to 



200 Califohnia Sketches, 

be an eligible gallant to any lady. But it failed. 
That unfortunate remark ruined Uncle Joe's pros- 
pects: Aunt Tishy positively refused to go with 
him to church, and just as soon as he had left she 
went into the sitting-room in high disgust, saying: 

"What made dat nigger tell me a lie like dat? 
Tut, tut, tut!" 

She cut him ever after, saying she would n't keep 
company with a liar, " even if he was from de Souf." 
Aunt Tishy was a good woman, and had some old- 
time notions. As a cook, she was discounted a lit- 
tle by the fact that she used tobacco, and when it 
got into the gravy it was not improving to its flavor. 

Uncle Joe was in his glory at a dinner-party, 
where he could wait on the guests, give droll an- 
swers to the remarks made to call him out, and 
enliven the feast by his inimitable and "catching" 
laugh. In a certain circle no occasion of the 
sort was considered complete without his presence. 
There was no such thing as dullness when he was 
about. His peculiar wit or his simplicity was 
brought out at a dinner-party one day at Dr. Bas- 
com's. There was a large gathering of the lead- 
ing families of San Jose and vicinity, and Uncle 
Joe was there in his jolliest mood. Mrs. Bascom, 
whose wit was then the quickest and keenest in all 
California, presided, and enough good things were 
said to have made a reputation for Sidney Smith 



A Virginian in California. 261 

or Douglas Jerrold. Mrs. Bascom, herself a Vir- 
ginian by extraction, had engaged in a laughing 
colloquy with Uncle Joe, who stood near the head 
of the table waving a bunch of peacock's feathers 
to keep off the flies. 

"Missus, who is yer kinfolks back dar in Vir- 
ginny, any way?" 

The names of several were mentioned. 

" Why, dem 's big folks," said Uncle Joe. 

"Yes," said she, laughingly; "I belong to the 
first families of Virginia." 

"I do n't know 'bout dat, Missus. I was dar 
'fore you was, an' I do n't 'long to de fus' fam- 
ilies!" 

He looked at it from a chronological rather 
than a genealogical stand-point, and, strange to 
say, the familiar j)hrase had never been heard by 
him before. 

Uncle Joe joined the Church. He was sincere 
in his profession. The proof was found in the 
fact that he quit dancing. No more "pigeon- 
wings," "double -shuffles," or "breakdowns," for 
him — he was a "perfessor." He was often tempted 
by the offer of coin, but he stood firm. 

" No, sah ; I 's done dancin', an' do n't want to 
be discommunicated from de Church," he would 
say, good-naturedly, as he shied off, taking himself 
away from temi)tation. 



262 California Sketches. 

A very high degree of spirituality could hardly 
be expected from Uncle Joe at that late day ; but 
he was a Christian after a pattern of his own — 
kind-hearted, grateful, simple-minded, and full of 
good humor. His strength gradually declined, 
and he was taken to the county hospital, where his 
patience and cheerfulness conciliated and elicited 
kind treatment from everybody. His memories 
went back to old Virginia, and his hopes looked 
up to the heaven of which his notions were as 
simple as those of a little child. In the simplicity 
of a child's faith he had come to Jesus, and I 
doubt not was numbered among his little ones. 
Among the innumerable company that shall be 
gathered on Mount Zion from every kindred, tribe, 
and tongue, I hope to meet my humble friend, 
Uncle Joe. 



AT THE END. 



AMONG my acquaintances at San Jose, in 
1863, was a young Kentuckian who had 
come down from the mines in bad health. The 
exposure of mining -life liad been too severe for 
him. It took iron constitutions to stand all day 
in almost ice-cold water up to the waist with a hot 
sun pouring down its burning rays upon the head 
and upper part of the body. Many a poor fellow 
sunk under it at once, and after a few days of fever 
and delirium was taken to the top of an adjacent 
hill and laid to rest by the hands of strangers. 
Others, crippled by rheumatic and neuralgic trou- 
bles, drifted into the hospitals of San Francisco, 
or turned their faces sadly toward the old homes 
which they had left with buoyant hopes and elastic 
footsteps. Others still, like this young Kentuck- 
ian, came down into the valleys with the hacking 
cough and hectic flush to make a vain struggle 
against the destroyer that had fastened upon their 

(2G3) 



264 California Sketches. 

vitals, nursing often a vain hope of recovery to the 
very last. Ah, remorseless flatterer! as I write 
these lines, the images of your victims crowd be- 
fore my vision : the strong men that grew weak, 
and pale, and thin, but fought to the last inch for 
life; the noble youths who were blighted just as 
they began to bloom ; the beautiful maidens ethe- 
realized into almost more than mortal beauty by 
the breath of the death-angel, as autumn leaves, 
touched by the breath of winter, blush with the 
beauty of decay. My young friend indulged no 
false hopes. He knew he was doomed to early 
death, and did not shrink from the thought. One 
day, as we were conversing in a store up-town, he 
said: 

"I know that I have at most but a few months 
to live, and I want to spend them in making prep- 
aration to die. You will oblige me by advising 
me what books to read. I want to get clear views 
of what I am to do, and then do it." 

It need scarcely be said that I most readily 
complied with his request, and that first and 
chiefly I advised him to consult the Bible, as 
the light to his path and the lamp to his feet. 
Other books were suggested, and a word with 
regard to prayerful reading was given, and kindly 
received. 

One day I went over to sec my friend. Enter- 



At THE' End. 265 

ing his room, I found him sitting by the fire with 
a table by his side, on which was lying a Bible. 
There was an unusual flush in his face, and his eye 
burned with unusual brightness. 

"How are you to-day?" I asked. 

"I am annoyed, sir — I am indignant," he said. 

"What is the matter?" 

"Mr. , the preacher, has just left me. 

He told me that my soul cannot be saved unless I 
perform two miracles: I must, he said, think of 
nothing but religion, and be baptized by immer- 
sion. I am very weak, and cannot fully control 
my mental action — my thoughts will wander in 
spite of myself As to being put under the water, 
that would be immediate death ; it would bring on 
a hemorrhage of the lungs, and kill me." 

He leaned his head on the table and panted for 
breath, his thin chest heaving. I answered : 

"Mr. is a good man, but narrow. He 

meant kindly in the foolish words he spoke to you. 
No man, sick or well, can so control the action of 
his mind as to force his thoughts wholly into one 
channel. I cannot do it, neither can any other 
man. God requires no such absurdity of you or 
anybody else. As to being immersed, that seems 
to be a physical impossibility, and he surely does 
not demand what is impossible. My friend, it 
really makes little difference what Mr. says, 



266 California Sketches. 

or \vliat I say, concerning this matter. What does 
God say? Let us see." 

I took up the Bible, and he turned a face upon 
me expressing the most eager interest. The blessed 
Book seemed to open of itself to the very words 
^that were wanted. " Like as a father pitieth his 
children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him." 
"He knoweth our frame, and remembereth that 
'we are dust." " Ho, every one that thirsteth, come 
to the waters," 

Glancing at him as I read, I was struck with 
the intensity of his look as he drank in' every word. 
A traveler dying of thirst in the desert could not 
clutch a cup of cold water more eagerly than he 
grasped these tender words of the pitying Father 
in heaven. 

I read the words of Jesus: "Come unto me all 
ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give 
you rest." "Him that cometh unto me I will in 
no wise cast out." 

"This is what God says to you, and these are the 
only conditions of acceptance. Nothing is said 
about any thing but the desire of your heart and 
the purpose of your soul. O my friend, these 
words are for you!" 

The great truth flashed upon his mind, and 
flooded it with light. He bent his head and wept. 
Wc knelt and prayed together, and when we rose 



At the End. 267 

from our knees lie said softly, as the tears stole 
do\Yii his face : 

"It is all right now — I see it clearly; I see it 
clearly ! " 

AVe quietly clasped hands, and sat in silent sym- 
pathy. There was no need for any words from 
me; God had spoken, and that was enough. Our 
hearts were singing together the song without words. 

"You have found peace at the cross — let nothing 
disturb it," I said, as he pressed my hand at the 
door as we left. 

It never was disturbed. The days that had 
dragged so wearily and anxiously during the long, 
long months, were now full of brightness. A sub- 
dued joy shone in his face, and his voice was low 
and tender as he spoke of the blessed change that 
had passed upon him. The Book wdiose words had 
been light and life to him was often in his hand, 
or lay open on the little table in his room. He 
never lost his hold upon the great truth he had 
grasped, nor abated in the fullness of his joy. I 
was with him the night he died. He knew the end 
was at hand, and the thought filled him with sol- 
emn joy. His eyes kindled, and his wasted feat- 
ures fairly blazed with rapture as he said, holding 
my hand with both of his: 

"I am glad it will all soon be over. My peace 
has been unbroken since that morning when God 



268 California Sketches. 

sent you to me. I feel a strange, solemn joy at 
the thought that I shall soon know all." 

Before day-break the great mystery was disclosed 
to him, and as he lay in his coffin next day, the 
smile that lingered on his lips suggested the thought 
that he had caught a hint of the secret while yet 
in the body. 

Among the casual hearers that now and then 
dropped in to hear a sermon in Sonora, in the early 
days of my ministry there, was a man who inter- 
ested me particularly. He was at that time edit- 
ing one of the papers of the town, which sparkled 
with the flashes of his versatile genius. He was a 
true Bohemian, who had seen many countries, and 
knew life in almost all its phases. He had written 
a l)ook of adventure which found many readers 
and admirers. An avowed skeptic, Jie was yet 
respectful in his allusions to sacred things, and I 
am sure his editorial notices of the pulpit efforts 
of a certain young preacher who had much to 
learn were more thiyi just. He was a brilliant 
talker, with a vein of enthusiasm that was very 
delightful. His spirit was generous and frank, 
and I never heard from his lips an unkind word 
concerning any human being. Even his partisan 
editorials were free from the least tinge of asperity 
— and this is a supreme test of a sweet and courte- 



At the End, 269 

ous nature. In our talks he studiously evaded the 
one subject most interesting to me. With gentle 
and delicate skill he parried all my attempts to 
introduce the subject of religion in our conversa- 
tions. 

"I can't agree with you on that subject, and we 
will let it pass," he would say, with a smile, and 
then he would start some other topic, and rattle on 
delightfully in his easy, rapid way. 

He could not stay long at a 2:>lace, being a con- 
firmed wanderer. He left Sonora, and I lost sight 
of him. Retaining a very kindly feeling for this 
gentle-spirited and pleasant adventurer, I was loth 
thus to lose all trace of him. Meeting a friend one 
day, on J Street, in the city of Sacramento, he said : 

" Your old friend D is at the Golden Eagle 

hotel. You ought to go and see him." 

I went at once. Ascending to the third story, I 
found his room, and, knocking at the door, a feeble 
voice bade me enter. I was shocked at the spec- 
tacle that met my gaze. Propped in an arm-chair 
in the middle of the room, wasted to a skeleton, 
and of a ghastly pallor, sat the unhappy man. 
His eyes gleamed with an unnatural brightness, 
and his features wore a look of intense suffering. 

"You have come too late, sir," he said, before I 
had time to say a word. " You can do me no good 
now. I have been sittino; in this cliair three weeks. 



270 California Sketches, 

I could not live a, minute in any other position. 
Hell could not be worse than the tortures I have 
suffered!. I thank you for coming to see me, but 
you can do me no good — none, none!" 

He paused, panting for breath; and then he 
continued, in a soliloquizing way: 

"I played the fool, making a joke of what was 
no joking matter. It is too late. I can neither 
think nor pray, if praying would do any good. I 
can only suffer, suffer, suffer! " 

The painful interview soon ended. To every 
cheerful or hopeful suggestion which I made he 
gave but the one reply: 

"Too late!" 

The unspeakable anguish of his look, as his eyes 
followed me to the door, haunted me for many a 
day, and the echo of his words, "Too late!" lin- 
gered sadly upon my ear. When I saw the an- 
nouncement of his death, a few days afterward, I 
asked myself the solemn question, AVhether I had 
dealt faithfully with this light-hearted, gifted man 
Avhen he was within my reach. His last look is 
before me now, as I pencil these lines. 

"John A is dying over on the Portrero, and 

his family wants you to go ov^er and see him." 

It was while I was pastor in San Francisco. 
A was a member of my Church, and lived on 



At the End. 271 

what was called the Portrero, in the southern part 
of the city, beyond the Long Bridge. It was after 
night when I reached the little cottage on the slope 
jibove the bay. 

"He is dying and delirious/' said a member of 
the family, as I entered the room where the sick 
man lay. His wife, a woman of peculiar traits 
and great religious fervor, and a large number of 
children and grandchildren, were gathered in the 
dying man's chamber and the adjoining rooms. 
The sick man — a man of large and powerful frame 
— was restlessly tossing and moving his limbs, mut- 
tering incoherent words, with now and then a burst 
of uncanny laughter. When shaken, he w^ould 
open his eyes for an instant, make some meaning- 
less ejaculation, and then they would close again. 
The wife was very anxious that he should have a 
lucid interval while I was there. 

"0 1 cannot bear to have him die without a 
word of farewell and comfort!" she said, weeping. 

The hours wore on, and the dying man's pulse 
show^ed that he was sinking steadily. Still he lay 
unconscious, moaning and gibbering, tossing from 
side to side as far as his failing strength permitted. 
His wife would stand and gaze at him a few mo- 
ments, and then walk the floor in agony. 

"He can't last much longer," said a visitor, who 
felt his pulse and found it almost gone, while his 



272 California Sketches. 

breathing became more labored. AVe waited iu 
silence. A thought seemed to strike the wife. 
Without saying a word, she climbed upon the bed, 
took her dying husband's head upon her lap, and, 
bending close above his face, began to sing. It 
was a melody I had never heard before — low, and 
sweet, and quaint. The effect was weird and 
thrilling as the notes fell tremulous from the sing- 
er's lips in the hush of that dead hour of the night. 
Presently the dying man became more quiet, and 
before the song was finished he opened his eyes as 
a smile swept over his face, and as his glance fell 
on me I saw that he knew me. He called my 
name, and looked up in the face that bent above 
his own, and kissed it. 

" Thank God ! " his wife exclaimed, her hot tears 
falling on his face, that wore a look of strange se- 
renity. Then she half whispered to me, her face 
beaming with a softened light: 

" That old song was one we used to sing together 
when we were first married in Baltimore." 

On the stream of music and memory he had 
floated back to consciousness, called by the love 
whose instinct is deeper and truer than all the 
science and philosophy in the world. 

At dawn he died, his mind clear, and the voice 
of prayer in his ears, and a look of rapture iu his 
face. 



I 



At the End. 273 

Dan W , whom I had known in the mines 

in the early days, had come to San Jose about the 
time my 2)astorate in the place began. He kept a 
meat-market, and was a most genial, accommodat- 
ing, and good-natured fellow. Everybody liked 
him, and he seemed to like everybody. His ani- 
mal spirits were unfailing, and his face never re- 
vealed the least trace of worry or care. He " took 
things easy," and never quarreled with his luck. 
Such men are always popular, and Dan was a gen- 
eral favorite, as the generous and honest fellow 
deserved to be. Hearing that he was very sick, I 
Avent to see him. I found him very low, but he 
greeted me with a smile. 

"How are you to-day, Dan?" I asked, in the 
off-hand way of the old times. 

" It is all up with me, I guess," he replied, paus- 
ing to get breath between the words; "the doctor 
says I can't get out of this — I must leave in a day 
or two." 

He spoke in a matter-of-fact w^ay, indicating that 
he intended to take death, as he had taken life, easy. 

"How do you feel about changing worlds, my 
old friend?" 

"I have no say in the matter. I have got to go, 
and that is all there is of it.'' 

That was all I ever got out of him. He told 
me he had not been to church for ten years, as "it 
18 



274 California Sketches. 

was not in his line." He did not understand mat- 
ters of that sort, he said, as his business was run- 
ning a meat-market. He intended no disrespect 
to rae or to sacred things — this was his way of put- 
ting the matter in his simple-heartedness. 

"Shall I kneel here and pray with you?" I 
asked. 

"No; you needn't take the trouble, parson," he 
said, gently; "you see I've got to go, and that's 
all there is of it. I do n't understand that sort of 
thing — it's not in my line, you see. I've been in 
the meat business." 

"Excuse me, my old friend, if I ask if you do 
not, as a dying man, have some thoughts about 
God and eternity?" 

"That 's not in my line, and I could n't do much 
thinking now any way. It 's all right, parson — I 've 
got to go, and Old Master will do right about it." 

Thus he died without a prayer, and without a 
fear, and his case is left to the theologians who can 
understand it, and to the "Old Master" who will 
do right. 

I was called to see a lady who was dying at 
North Beach, San Francisco. Her history was a 
singularly sad one, illustrating the ups and downs 
of California life in a startling manner. From 
opulence to i)()verty, and from poverty to sorrow, 



At the End. 275 

and from sorrow to death — these were the acts in 
the drama, and the curtain was about to fall on 
the last. On a previous visit I had pointed the 
poor sufferer to the Lamb of God, and prayed at 
her bedside, leaving her calm and tearful. Her 
only daughter, a sweet, fresh girl of eighteen, had 
two years ago betrothed herself to a young man 
from Oregon, who had come to San Francisco to 
study a profession. The dying mother had ex- 
pressed a desire to see them married before her 
death, and I had been sent for to perform the cer- 
emony. 

"She is unconscious, poor thing!" said a lady 
who was in attendance, " and she will fail of her 
dearest wish." 

The dying mother lay with a flushed face, breath- 
ing painfully, with closed eyes, and moaning pite- 
ously. Suddenly her eyes opened, and she glanced 
inquiringly around the room. They understood 
her. The daughter and her betrothed were sent 
for. The mother's face brightened as they entered, 
and she turned to me and said, in a faint voice: 

"Go on with the ceremony, or it will be too 
late for me. God bless you, darling!" she added 
as the daughter bent down sobbing, and kissed her. 

The bridal couple kneeled together by the bed 
of death, and the assembled friends stood around 
in solemn silence, while the beautiful fornmla of the 



276 California Sketches. 

Church was repeated, the dying mother's eyes rest- 
ing upon the kneeling daughter with an expression 
of unutterable tenderness. When the vows were 
taken that made them one, and their hands were 
clasped in token of plighted faith, she drew them 
both to her in a long embrace, and then almost 
instantly closed her eyes with a look of infinite 
restfulness, and never opened them again. 

Of the notable men I met in the mines in the 
early days, there was one who piqued and puzzled 
my curiosity. He had the face of a saint with the 
habits of a debauchee. His pale and student-like 
features were of the most classic mold, and 'their 
expression singularly winning, save when at times 
a cynical sneer would suddenly flash over them 
like a cloud-shadow over a quiet landscape. He 
^\£^^ a lawyer, and stood at the head of the bar. 
He was an orator whose silver voice and magnetic 
qualities often kindled the largest audiences into 
the wildest enthusiasm. Nature had denied him 
no gift of body or mind requisite to success in life; 
but there was a fatal weakness in his moral consti- 
tution. He was an inveterate gambler, his large 
professional earnings going into the coffers of the 
faro and monte dealers. His violations of good 
morals in other respects were flagrant. He worked 
hard by day, and gave himself up to his vices at 



At the End. 277 

night. Public opinion was not very exacting in 
those days, and his failings were condoned by a 
people who respected force and pluck, and made 
no close inquiries into a man's private life, because 
it would have been no easy thing to find one who, 
on the score of innocence, was entitled to cast the 
first stone. Thus he lived from year to year, in- 
creasing his reputation as a lawyer of marked 
ability, and as a politician whose eloquence in 
every campaign was a tower of strength to his 
party. His fame spread until it filled the State, 
and his money still fed his vices. He never drank, 
and that cool, keen intellect never lost its balance, 
or failed him in any encounter on the hustings ot 
at the bar. I often met him in public, but he 
never was known to go inside a church. Once, 
when in a street conversation I casually made some 
reference to religion, a look of displeasure passed 
over his face, and he abruptly left me. I was 
agreeably surprised when, on more than one occa- 
sion, he sent me a substantial token of good-will, 
but I was never able to analyze the motive that 
prompted him to do so. This remembrance soft- 
ens the feelings with w^hich these lines are penciled. 
He went to San Francisco, but there was no change 
in his life. 

"It is the old story," said an acquaintance of 
whom I made inquiry concerning him: "he has 



278 California Sketches. 

a large aud lucrative practice, and the gamblers 
get all he makes. He is getting gray, and he is 
failing a little. He is a strange being." 

It happened afterward that his office and mine 
were in the same building and on the same floor. 
As we met on the stairs, he would nod to me and 
pass on. I noticed that he was indeed "failing." 
He looked weary and sad, and the cold or defiant 
gleam in his steel-gray eyes was changed int?o a 
wistful and painful expression that was very pa- 
thetic. I did not dare to invade his reserve with 
any tender of sympathy. Joyless and hopeless as 
he might be, I felt instinctively that he would play 
out his drama alone. Perhaps this was a mistake 
on my part: he may have been hungry for the 
word I did not speak. God knows. I was not 
lacking in proper interest in his well-being, but I 
have since thought in such cases it is safest to 
speak. 

"What has become of B ?" said my land- 
lord one day as we met in the hall. "I have been 
here to see him several times, and found his door 
locked, and his letters and newspapers have not 
been touched. There is something the matter, I 
fear." 

Instantly I felt somehow that there was a trage- 
dy in the air, and I had a strange feeling of awe 
as I passed the door of B 's room. 



At the End. 279 

A policeman was brought, the lock forced, and 
we went in. A sickening odor of chloroform filled 
the room. The sight that met our gaze made us 
shudder. Across the bed was lying the form of a 
man partly dressed, his head thrown back, his eyes 
staring upward, his limbs hanging loosely over the 
bedside. 

"Is he dead?" was asked in a whisper. 

" No," said the officer, with his finger on B 's 

wrist; "he is not dead yet, but he will never wake 
out of this. He has been lying thus two or three 
days." 

A physician was sent for, and all possible efforts 
made to rouse him, but in vain. About sunset the 
pulse ceased to beat, and it was only a lump of 
lifeless clay that lay there so still and stark. This 
was his death — the mystery of his life went back 
beyond my knowledge of him, and will only be 
known at the judgment-day. 

One of the gayest and brightest of all the young 
people gathered at a May-day picnic, just across 

the bay from San Francisco, was Ada D . The 

only daughter of a wealthy citizen, living in one 
of the lovely valleys beyond the coast-range of 
mountains, beautiful in person and sunny in tem- 
per, she was a favorite in all the circle of her asso- 
ciations. Though a petted child of fortune, she 



280 California Sketches. 

was not spoiled. Envy itself was changed into 
affection in the presence of a spirit so gentle, un- 
assuming, and loving. She had recently been grad- 
uated from one of the best schools, and her graces 
of character matched the brilliance of her pecu- 
niary fortune. 

A few days after the May-day festival, as I was 
sitting in my office, a little before sunset, there was 
a knock at the door, and before I could answer 
the messenger entered hastily, saying: 

" I want you to go with me at once to Amador 

Valley. Ada D is dying, and wishes to be 

baptized. We just have time for the six o'clock 
boat to take us across the bay, where the carriage 
and horses are waiting for us. The distance is 
thirty miles, and we must run a race against 
death." 

We started at once : no minister of Jesus Christ 
hesitates to obey a summons like that. We reached 
the boat while the last taps of the last bell were 
being given, and were soon at the landing on the 
opposite side of the bay. Springing ashore, we en- 
tered the vehicle which was in readiness. Grasp- 
ing the reins, my companion touched up the spir- 
ited team, and we struck across the valley. My 
driver was an old Californian, skilled in all horse- 
craft and road-craft. He spoke no word, putting 
his soul and body into his work, determined, as he 



At the End. 281 

had said, to make the thirty miles by nine o'clock. 
There was no abatement of speed after we struck 
the hills : what was lost in going up was regained 
in going down. The mettle of those California- 
bred horses was wonderful ; the quick beating of 
their hoofs upon the graveled road was as regular 
as the motion of machinery, steam-driven. It was 
an exciting ride, and there was a weirdness in the 
sound of the night-breeze floating by us, and ghost- 
ly shapes seemed looking at us from above and 
below, as we wound our way through the hills, 
while the bright stars shone like funeral -tapers 
over a world of death. Death! how vivid and 
awful was its reality to me as I looked up at those 
shining worlds on high, and then upon the earth 
wrapped in darkness below! Death! his sable 
coursers are swift, and we may be too late! The 
driver shared my thoughts, and lashed the panting 
horses to yet greater speed. My pulses beat rap- 
idly as I counted the moments. 

"Here we are!" he exclaimed, as we dashed 
down the hill and brought up at the gate. " It is 
eight minutes to nine," he added, glancing at his 
watch by the light of a lamp shining through the 
window. 

"She is alive, but speechless, and going ftist," 
said the father, in a broken voice, as I entered the 
house. 



282 Califobnia Sketches. 

He led me to the chamber of the dyiDg girl. 
The seal of death was upon her. I bent above 
her, and a look of recognition came into her eyes. 
Not a moment was to be lost. 

" If you know me, my child, and can enter the 
meaning of what I say, indicate the fact if you 
can." 

There was a faint smile and a slight but signifi- 
cant inclination of the fair head as it lay envel- 
oped with its wealth of chestnut curls. With her 
hands folded on her breast, and her eyes turned 
upward, the dying girl lay in listening attitude, 
while in a few words I explained the meaning of 
the sacred rite and pointed her to the Lamb of God 
as the one sacrifice for sin. The family stood 
round the bed in awed and tearful silence. As 
the crystal sacramental drops fell upon her brow 
a smile flashed quickly over the pale face, there 
was a slight movement of the head — and she was 
gone ! The upward look continued, and the smile 
never left the fair, sweet face. We fell upon our 
knees, and the prayer that followed was not for 
her, but for the bleeding hearts around the couch 
where she lay smiling in death. 

Dave Douglass was one of that circle of Ten- 
nesseans who took prominent parts in the early 
history of California. He belonged to the Sum- 



At the End. 283 

ner County Douglasses, of Tennessee, and had the 
family warmth of heart, impulsiveness, and cour- 
age, that nothing could daunt. In all the polit- 
ical contests of the early days he took an active 
part, and was regarded as an unflinching and un- 
selfish partisan by his own party, and as an open- 
hearted and generous antagonist by the other. He 
was elected Secretary of State, and served the peo- 
ple with fidelity and efficiency. He was a man of 
a powerful physical frame, deep-chested, ruddy- 
faced, blue-eyed, with just enough shaggiucss of 
eyebrows and heaviness o'f the under-jaw to indi- 
cate the indomitable pluck which was so strong an 
element in his character. He was a true Doug- 
lass, as brave and true as any of the name that 
ever wore the kilt or swung a claymore in the land 
of Bruce. His was a famous Methodist family in 
Tennessee, and though he knew more of politics 
than piety, he was a good friend to the Church, 
and had regular preaching in the school-house 
near his farm on the Calaveras River. All the 
itinerants that traveled that circuit knew " Doug- 
lass's School-house" as an appointment, and shared 
liberally in the hospitality and purse of the Gen- 
eral — (that was his title). 

"Never give up the fight!" he said to me, with 
flashing eye, the last time I met him in Stockton, 
pressing my hand with a warm clasp. It was 



284 California Sketches. 

while I was engaged in the effort to build a church 
in that place, and I had been telling him of the 
difficulties I had met in the work. That word and 
hand-clasp helped me. 

He was taken sick soon after. The disease had 
taken too strong a grasp upon him to be broken. 
He fought bravely a losing battle for several days. 
Sunday morning came, a bright, balmy day. It 
was in the early summer. The cloudless sky was 
deep-blue, the sunbeams sparkled on the bosom of 
the Calaveras, the birds were singing in the trees, 
and the perfume of the Howers filled the air and 
floated in through the open window to where the 
strong man lay dying. He had been affected with 
the delirium of fever during most of his sickness, 
but that was past, and he was facing death with 
an unclouded mind. 

" I think I am dying," he said, half inquiringly. 

" Yes — is there any thing we can do for you ? " 

His eyes closed for a few moments, and his lips 
moved as if in mental prayer. Opening his eyes, 
he said: 

"Sing one of the old camp-meeting songs." 

A preacher present struck up the hymn, "Show 
pity, Lord, O Lord forgive." 

The dying man, composed to rest, lay with folded 
hands and listened with shortening breath and a 
rapt face, and thus he died, the words and the mel- 



At the End. 285 

ody that had t(3uched his boyish hcurt among the 
far-off hills of Tennessee being the last sounds that 
fell upon his dying ear. We may hope that on 
that old camp-meeting song was wafted the prayer 
and trust of a penitent soul receiving the kingdom 
of heaven as a little child. 

During my pastorate at Santa Rosa, one of my 
occasional hearers was John I . He was dep- 
uty-sheriff of Sonoma County, and was noted for 
his quiet and determined courage. He was a man 
of few words, but the most reckless desperado 
knew that he could not be trifled with. When 
there was an arrest to be made that involved spe- 
cial peril, this reticent, low-voiced man was usually 
intrusted with the undertaking. He was of the 
good old Primitive Baptist stock from Caswell 
County, North Carolina, and had a lingering fond- 
ness for the peculiar views of that people. He 
had a weakness for strong drink that gave him 
trouble at times, but nobody doubted his integrity 
any more than they doubted his courage. His 
wife was an earnest INIethodist, one of a family of 
sisters remarkable for their excellent sense and 
strong religious characters. Meeting him one day, 
just before my return to San Francisco, he said, 
with a warmth of manner not common with him: 

" I am sorry you are going to leave Santa Rosa. 



286 Califorxia Sketches. 

You understand me, and if anybody can do me 
any good, you are the man." 

There was a tremor in his voice as he spoke, and 
he held my hand in a lingering grasp. 

Yes, I knew him. I had seen him at church on 
more than one occasion with compressed lips strug- 
gling to conceal the strong emotion he felt, some- 
times hastily wiping away an unbidden tear. The 
preacher, when his own soul is aglow and his sym- 
pathies all awakened and drawn out toward his 
hearers, is almost clairvoyant at times in his per- 
ception of their inner thoughts. I understood this 
man, though no disclosure had been made to me 
in words. I read his eye, and marked the wishful 
and anxious look that came over his face when his 
conscience was touched and his heart moved. Yes, 
I knew him, for my sympathy had made me re- 
sponsive, and his w^ords, spoken sadly, thrilled me, 
and rolled upon my spirit the burden of a soul. 
His health, wdiich had been broken by hardships 
and careless living, began to decline more rapidly. 
I heard that he had expressed a desire to see me, 
and made no delay in going to see him. I found 
him in bed, and much wasted. 

"I am glad you have come. I have been want- 
ing to see you," he said, taking my hand. "I have 
been thinking of my duty to God for a good while, 
and have felt more than anybody has suspected. 



At the End. 287 

I want to do what I can and ought to do. You 
have made this matter a study, and you ought to 
understand it. I want you to help me." 

We had many interviews, and I did what I could 
to guide a penitent sinner to the sinner's Friend. 
He was indeed a penitent sinner — shut out from 
the world and shut in with God, the merciful Fa- 
ther was speaking to his soul, and all its depths 
were stirred. The patient, praying wife had a 
wishful look in her eyes as I came out of his room, 
and I knew her thought. God was leading him, 
and he was receptive of the truth that saves. He 
had one difficulty. 

"I hate meanness, or any thing that looks like 
it. It does look mean for me to turn to religion 
now that I am sick, after being so neglectful and 
wicked when I was well." 

"That thought is natural to a manly soul, but 
there is a snare in it. You are thinking what oth- 
ers may say, and your pride is touched. You are 
dealing with God only. Ask only what will please 
him. The time for a man to do his duty is when he 
sees it and feels the obligation. Let the past go — 
you cannot undo it, but it may be forgiven. The 
present and an eternal future are yours, my friend. 
Do what will please God, and all will be right." 

The still waters were reached, and his soul lay 
at rest in the arms of God. O sweet, sweet rest! 



288 California Sketches. 

infinitely sweet to the spirit long tossed upon the 
stormy sea of sin and remorse. O peace of God, 
the inflow into a human heart of the very life of 
the Lord ! It is the hidden mystery of love divine 
whispered to the listening ear of faith. It had 
come to him by its own law when he was ready to 
receive it. The great change had come to him — it 
looked out from his eyes and beamed from his fiice. 
He was baptized at night. The family had 
gathered in the room. In the solemn hush of the 
occasion the whispers of the night-breeze could be 
heard among the vines and flowers outside, and the 
rippling of the sparkling waters of Santa Rosa 
Creek was audible. The sick man's face was lu- 
minous with the light that was from within. The 
solemn rite was finished, a tender and holy awe 
filled the room ; it was the house of God and the 
gate of heaven. The wife, who was sitting near a 
window, rose, and noiselessly stepped to the bed, 
and without a word printed a kiss on her hus- 
band's forehead, while the joy that flushed her 
features told that the prayer of thirty years had 
been answered. AVe sung a hymn and parted with 
tears of silent joy. In a little while he crossed 
the river where we may mingle our voices again 
by and by. There is not money enough in the 
California hills to buy the memory of that visit to 
Santa Rosa. 



